


I'll Keep Fighting For You Because I love Nothing More

by PanicMoon15



Series: Baby Mine, Rest Your Head Close To My Heart [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Family, Fluff, Kid Fic, Kid Jemma Simmons, Kid Skye | Daisy Johnson, mama may, papa phil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 06:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 62,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5617177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanicMoon15/pseuds/PanicMoon15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'Giving Up is Easy, But We'll Take the Challenge'</p><p>Skye's got a family, but she's also got a lot to get used to. A new baby coming, a new friend in Jemma Simmons, and everyone seems to have something they're worried about. It's all a bit overwhelming, and that's not even counting weird guy Skye keeps seeing following her around...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're Friends

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is it. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it as much as the first instalment, and I can't wait to hear from you! Thank you so much for sticking with me, and here's to a brilliant 2016. xx

“This is exciting.” Skye declared, pushing her hat out of her face and allowing Bobbi’s grip on her hand to guide her through the constructed forest of pine trees set up in the parking lot of a _Target._

Skye had been a little disappointed when her mommy had said she was feeling too tired to take Skye out for the day, even though it was Saturday and they nearly _always_ did something together on Saturdays, especially when daddy was working. But the day seemed to be looking up. The little girl skipped every few steps to keep up with her long-legged older sister, and leaned around her front to speak to Jemma, holding onto Bobbi’s other hand.

“Isn’t it exciting, Jemma?” Skye asked.

Jemma nodded and smiled when they passed one of the Christmas trees already decorated with lights and baubles for show. Jemma’s hat didn’t seem to slip into her eyes like Skye’s did, but she kept rubbing her hands on her jeans to push her gloves back onto her fingers. “It is.” She said to Skye with a smile. “I’ve never picked out a _real_ Christmas tree before.”

“Me neither.” Skye said, slowing her walk to catch sight of two men struggling to affix a netted tree onto the top of a minivan. Bobbi tugged at her hand and she jogged to catch up. “We weren’t allowed Christmas trees at the orphanage. Something about Jesus, or the devil.” She shrugged. “M’not sure.”

“It was probably because of the pagan origins.” Jemma said.

Skye grimaced at the words she didn’t understand. “Huh?”

Jemma didn’t explain. She had a habit of either using expressions Skye didn’t understand and then explaining them in too much detail, or using them and not explaining them at all. Skye wasn’t sure which was more irritating.

“We always had a fake tree in London.” Jemma said brightly. “Didn’t we, Bobbi?”

Bobbi nodded. “They’re less messy. Plus it already had the lights attached to it. Seriously,” she sighed, “ _so_ much easier.” The woman shook her head. “So much easier than the damn tree we’ve got in the house.

“But they don’t smell as nice as the real ones.” Jemma said, looking up at Bobbi, then back to Skye. “That’s what Dad says.”

Skye opened to mouth to disagree, because Daddy was the reason that they had a plastic Christmas tree at home, and not a real one like Bobbi and Hunter. He said that the real ones made his skin itchy and made everything smell like a forest. But then Skye realised that Jemma wasn’t talking about Skye and Bobbi’s Daddy, but her own. To Skye, Jemma’s Daddy was just ‘Hunter’. It was still something Skye found herself getting used to, along with everything else that had changed over the last couple of months.

They stopped walking when they reached the little tent that was set up to take orders and payments for the tress, and Bobbi let go of Skye’s hand to pull out the piece of notebook paper their Mom had given her.

Despite her Dad’s dislike for the real Christmas trees, her mother had won some argument between them, which had ended with Bobbi being instructed to buy ten real fir trees to put in the gym to give it a ‘Christmas atmosphere’. Bobbi had complained because it was her weekend off from working in the lab with Izzy, _and_ it was already only ten days until Christmas, anyway, and she didn’t want to spend it buying trees, but then Skye and Jemma had begged her to take them because they hadn’t got to go with Hunter when he bought the tree for their house and they _really_ wanted to go. Some puppy dog eyes, and a bit of pouting had sealed the deal.

Sometimes Skye found herself being annoyed by Jemma’s seemingly constant presence in her life, but then there were moments like that where together they made a pretty good team.

“Ten?” The salesman said in a bit of disbelief, looking down at the paper from her mom. “In very specific sizes.”

Bobbi nodded. “Yeah. My Mom is very specific.”

“This is a lot of trees. You got a giant house or something?”

“My parents own a gym in town. SHIELD?”

“Oh, yeah. I know the place.” The guy said, scratching his chin. “My kid had swimming lessons there.”

“Yeah, well, my mom wants the place to feel festive.” Bobbi smirked. “It’s taken them half the month of December to decide on getting these freaking trees, so please tell me you can get them for me.”

Jemma smiled up at the salesman, apparently very interested in the grown up’s conversation, but Skye was getting bored and found looking at the display of twinkling lights in the tent to be significantly more intriguing. She liked the look of some purple and blue lights that were wrapped around one of the tent’s scaffolding poles.

A man looking at some smaller trees in the tent, turned and smiled at Skye. She took a step closer to Bobbi, and the man waved at her and left the tent. Skye looked back to the clerk.

The salesman rubbed his jaw. “You want these by a certain date?”

“ASAP.” Bobbi said, putting a hand on Jemma’s shoulder when the little girl tried to wander closer to some wreaths on the other side of the tent. “And if they could be delivered, that would be awesome.”

He sniffed and twisted his mouth a little, but then nodded. “Can do. For the right price.”

Skye watched as the man wrote a number on the paper and handed it back to Bobbi. She got up onto her tiptoes in an attempt to see, but Bobbi held it too high. Skye looked to Jemma, but the other girl just shrugged back.

Bobbi raised an eyebrow at the paper. “Knock of one-fifty, and you got yourself a deal.”

The man hissed a breath in through his teeth. “I’ll bring it down seventy-five.”

“A hundred.” Bobbi said quickly.

“Done.”

She and the man shook hands, Bobbi paid him with the company credit card, and then she, Skye, and Jemma were walking back to the car, back through the rows and rows of Christmas trees. Bobbi bought them both a candy cane each, and while Jemma kept the plastic and ribbon wrapped around the sweet, Skye had already chewed off the hook before they even got back to the car.

“Don’t we get to take any of the trees today?” Skye asked, looking over at the various families dragging trees through the parking lot. She licked some stickiness off her thumb.

“Not today, hun.” Bobbi said. “It took Hunter and Steve over an hour just to get our tree from the lot onto the car.” She tugged on Skye’s hand not wrapped around the candy cane and gave her a smirk. “I’m not going through that with _ten_ damn trees.”

Skye nodded. She understood that.

“Is ‘damn’ a swear word in America?” Jemma asked.

Skye leaned around Bobbi to look at her. “My Mommy says it’s a bad word, but it’s not a _bad_ bad word.”

“It’s a swear word and you shouldn’t say it.” Bobbi said.

“You say it all the time.” Jemma smiled. “And Dad says _much_ worse words.”

Bobbi sighed. “Yeah, well, we’re trying to get a handle on it.”

Jemma patted Bobbi’s hand. “We’ll get you a swear jar.”

“You can borrow ours.” Skye said. “It’s in the kitchen, but it doesn’t get used very much when Clint and Nat are at school.”

Bobbi laughed.

“Is Skye coming to play at our house now, or does she have to go home?” Jemma asked Bobbi.

Skye looked up to her big sister, waiting for the same question to be answered.

Bobbi swung her and Skye’s hands. “If Skye wants to she can come to our house to play.” She said. “Would you like to, Skye?”

She looked up at her big sister, and then over at Jemma who was smiling back at her. The past couple of months had been busy, a mash-up of getting used to having Jemma around, having Clint and Natasha back at college, and having Mommy change as the baby in her belly grew. She was getting fat, but Daddy said they weren’t allowed to say that. He just kept telling Mommy that she was ‘ _glowing’,_ whatever that meant.

To Skye, that was the biggest change she was having to get used to, because the bigger the baby got, the more tired Mommy got, and the less she seemed to want to play with Skye. Mommy still played Barbies with her sometimes, but she couldn’t push Skye on the swings anymore because she said it hurt her back. Skye had found herself spending a lot of time at Bobbi’s house with Jemma because Mommy was tired, or feeling sick because of the baby.

Bobbi squeezed her hand. “How about you come over to our house for a couple of hours, just until Dad gets home?” She said. “We can give Mom a break for a little while.”

Skye shrugged. Everyone seemed pretty eager to be giving Mommy ‘breaks’ from Skye as often as possible recently.

“We can play board games.” Jemma said as they reached the car. “I’ll let you pick which one, Skye.”

“Okay.” Skye climbed into the back of the car with Jemma. She only had a little piece of her candy cane left and she had to hold her arm at a weird angle so that Bobbi could fasten her seatbelt without getting the candy stuck to the strap. “But I don’t wanna play _Scrabble_ with you. You always use big words that get lots of points.”

Jemma frowned. “That’s the point of the game.”

“Yeah, but it’s no fun if you’re stupid like me.”

“Hey.” Bobbi said, glaring at Skye through the rear view mirror from the front seat. “None of that. Nobody in this car is stupid.”

Skye grumbled. “Then how comes I’m eight and I’m in second grade, and Jemma’s nine and she’s in _fifth_ grade?” When Hunter had announced that Jemma would be attending school with Skye she had been over the moon, but then Jemma had been bumped up to the fifth grade with the big kids, and she and Skye didn’t even play in the same playground at school during recess.

“It’s just,” Jemma said, “some people are better than others at certain things.” She put a hand on Skye’s arm, the one that had only recently been freed from the cast. “You’re not stupid. You’re good at lots of things.”

“Whatever.” Skye mumbled, and turned to look out of the window as Bobbi drove them home. She felt a little bad about being snappy with Jemma, because Mommy had explained how she was getting used to a lot of new things, too, but right now Skye was a little tired and a little hungry and just wanted a cuddle from her Mommy.

When they got to Bobbi’s house, Jemma kept her promise and let Skye pick the board game. She chose _Chutes and Ladders_ , then kind of wished she hadn’t, because Jemma spent ten minutes explaining to Skye about how in England it was called ‘ _Snakes_ and Ladders’. Most of Jemma’s conversations started with ‘In _England_ ’ or ‘In _London_ ’, and honestly, Skye didn’t care.

“Do you have any homework to do this weekend?” Jemma asked her during their second game of checkers. She was red and Skye was black, even though Skye had really wanted to be red.

Skye shrugged and moved her piece. “Miss Potts gave us a math worksheet.” She rubbed her eyes. “And I have my reading book.”

“Only _one_?” Jemma asked in disbelief.

“It’s about a girl called ‘Grace’ who wants to be Peter Pan.”

“Oh, I know that book. It’s easy.” Jemma said, folding her legs underneath her.

Skye thought it had kind of been a harder book to read because Miss Potts had let her pick it out of the blue section, and that was a whole reading level higher than usual. Skye tried not to feel bad because _everything_ seemed to be easy for Jemma.

Jemma reached for her backpack that rested by her bed. She had a little key ring of a blue box hanging from the zipper. It was from some British show Skye didn’t know about and it lit up and made funny noises when you pressed the top of it. Skye couldn’t see the appeal, but it was one of Jemma’s favourite things.

“Look at all of the homework _I’ve_ got, Skye.” Jemma said, holding her backpack open for Skye to see inside. “My teacher gave me six _pages_ of equations for maths, _and_ a whole reading comprehension chapter, _and_ all my extra science work.” She waved some pages close to Skye’s face and Skye leaned back out of the way.

“That’s a lot.” Skye said, if only to acknowledge that she was half listening.

“You’re telling me.” Jemma said. “But I’ve already started it, you see. I did most of my reading and all of my science yesterday, so it shouldn’t be too bad. Plus, the mathematics are really very simple. I was thinking of maybe requesting some more advanced work. Do you want to see my report on the Earth’s magnetic field? My teacher said it was the best she’d seen.”

“Oh.” Skye said.

“I showed Bobbi and she put it on the fridge.” Jemma grinned. “Does your Mum do that?”

She shrugged. The truth was, Skye’s Mommy and Daddy _always_ wanted to put her achievements on the fridge, but more and more often recently, she had been reluctant to show off her work from school. A lot of it wasn’t great, and even the ones that Miss Potts drew a smiley face on, weren’t worthy of the fridge, Skye thought. She got easier homework than the other kids. It made it feel like she was cheating, so Skye had been hiding them all under her bed.

“Skye?”

Skye didn’t reply. She was bored, tired, and didn’t want to listen to Jemma rambling on about school and England. She stood up.

“I think I wanna go home now.” Skye said, reaching over to get her sweater from where it lay on Jemma’s bed. The hole in Jemma’s bedroom wall from where Clint’s foot had gone though caught her eye. It had been two months and Clint still hadn’t fixed it, mostly because he hadn’t been home in that long. Skye really missed him and Nat.

Jemma’s face fell. “But we haven’t finished our game.”

Skye nudged the checkers board with her toe as she walked past and all the pieces slid from their squares. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t wanna play with you anymore.” She said. “See you later, Jemma.”

“Skye?”

“Leave me alone.”

Jemma put a hand on her shoulder and Skye pushed it off. She pulled her hand back, and cradled it with the other. “I thought we were friends, Skye.” She said quietly.

Skye shook her head. She didn’t want to play with Jemma anymore, she just wanted to go home. “No. We’re not friends.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth and Jemma’s heartbroken expression made Skye’s tummy feel all wrong. She ignored it. “You’re my big sister’s….” Skye frowned, coming up with no real label for what Jemma was to Bobbi, “I dunno, but you’re not my friend, Jemma. You’re just here all the time.”

She turned and took off down the stairs. Skye heard Jemma following her downstairs but didn’t bother waiting for her to catch up. When Skye got to the living room, Bobbi was watching television on the couch with her laptop on her knees. Her face was splotched with reflections of multicolours from the fairy lights on the Christmas tree in the corner. There were little pine needles on the rug under it. Bobbi looked up when Skye got to the bottom step.

“You okay?” She asked Skye, moving the computer to the side.

Skye shrugged, an automatic response she’d been finding herself using to answer questions more frequently recently. “I wanna go home, now.” She said.

Bobbi’s eyes flicked to Skye’s side where Jemma stepped up. “Everything alright?”

Jemma cocked her head at Skye. She was blinking a lot. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s fine.” Skye said. “I just wanna go home.”

Bobbi twisted her mouth a little and waved Skye over to her. Skye shuffled over to the couch, rubbing her socks over the carpet so that the soles of her feet warmed with every step forward.

“Hey,” Bobbi said, “are you sure you’re alright? You’ve been…” She moved her hand in a vague gesture.

“Been what?” Skye prompted.

Bobbi sighed. “I’m not sure, just, off? Not yourself?”

“M’tired.” Skye said by way of explanation. She could feel that she wasn’t her usual bright and bubbly self, and putting it down to tiredness seemed like the easiest way to end the conversation quickly.

It must have worked because Bobbi kissed her head and smiled. “Okay, then.” Her older sister stood up and grabbed her keys from the coffee table. “Let’s get you home.”

…

They dropped Skye off at home, but didn’t stay at her house for long. Skye seemed eager for Jemma and Bobbi to leave and didn’t say even one word to Jemma the whole car ride. Bobbi had made an excuse about needing to get Jemma home for her dinner, but Jemma knew that was just a cop out because there was still over an hour to the time they usually ate on a Saturday.

Skye didn’t say ‘goodbye’ to them when they left.

Bobbi let Jemma sit in the front seat on the way home.

“I don’t think Skye likes me very much.” Jemma said quietly, looking out of the window. It was getting dark and some people on the street they were driving by had an impressive display of Christmas lights. Her breath fogged up the glass of the window and Jemma wiped it away with her sleeve.

“Skye likes you plenty.” Bobbi said. “You guys play together all the time. I think she’s just having an off day.”

Jemma looked away from the lights and tipped her head towards Bobbi. “She said we’re not friends. What did I do to make her not like me?”

Bobbi’s face fell and she sighed. “Jemma, sweetheart, don’t think like that. Skye sometimes gets like this. She just…” the woman gripped the steering wheel and her knuckles went pale, “Skye sometimes needs some chill time.”

“Chill time?”

“She’s been at school all week. She’s been over at our house for dinner three days of this week.” Bobbi smiled at Jemma. “I think she just wants to spend some time with her mom.”

Jemma nodded her understanding, and then shook her head instead. “But _I’ve_ been at school all week. And _I’ve_ had dinner at our house every night this week.”

Bobbi chuckled. “Honey, it’s not quite the same.” They pulled up onto the driveway and Jemma noted the presence of her dad’s car. “This is home for you, it’s not _home_ for Skye.”

“Sometimes when we play, Skye gets angry at me, and I’m not sure why.” Jemma said. She rubbed a finger through the condensation on the inside of the car window. It squeaked and she pulled back. “I don’t want to upset her.”

“I know.” Bobbi reached over and ran a hand through Jemma’s hair. “When Skye gets mad, she can’t always help it.”

“Is that why she goes to the child psychologist?” Jemma undid her seatbelt and tried to shuffle as close to Bobbi as she could without leaving her seat.

Bobbi paused. “Yeah, that’s why. Amongst other things.”

“What other things?”

“Things that we won’t be discussing behind Skye’s back.” Bobbi said poignantly, and Jemma got the gist and stopped prompting. She wasn’t even really supposed to know Skye had been attending sessions with a psychologist, but she had overheard Bobbi talking on the phone to Natasha a month or so previously, and Bobbi and Lance had sat Jemma down and explained things to her.

They got out of the car and Bobbi waited for Jemma by the driver’s side door so that they could walk up the driveway together. Jemma took Bobbi’s offered hand and the woman rubbed it between both of hers to warm it up. She’d left her gloves in the house when they’d dropped off Skye.

“You know,” Jemma said, as they stepped up onto the porch, “Skye doesn’t call the doctor a ‘psychologist’, she calls him a ‘feelings doctor’.”

“Is she wrong?” Bobbi raised a brow.

Jemma blinked at her. “Well I suppose, not _technically._ Doctor Garner is a doctor of the mind, I just don’t understand why Skye doesn’t just call him what he is.” She shook her head a little. “He’s a psychologist. Calling him a ‘feelings doctor’ makes it sound like he didn’t go through years of medical school.”

Bobbi opened the front door and ushered Jemma inside. “If Skye wants to refer to Andrew as her feelings doctor, then let her.” She pulled the door shut behind them and began helping Jemma get her coat off. “Okay, honey?”

“Okay.” Jemma gave Bobbi a hug, wrapping both arms around the woman’s waist and squeezing tightly. She liked hugging Bobbi and her dad, and they never _ever_ pushed her away, so Jemma had been taking every opportunity in the past two months to show her love.

“I love you.” Bobbi mumbled into her hair. She bent over and kissed Jemma’s cheeks. “I don’t want you to worry about Skye, okay? I’ll talk to her, but I don’t want you thinking it’s anything you’ve done.”

“I love you.” Jemma told Bobbi, pulling her down by the hem of her sweater so that she could give her a kiss.

“Oi!”

Jemma let go of Bobbi to turn towards the call with a grin. Her dad stood in the doorway to the kitchen with a bottle of beer in one hand and the other arm held out wide.

“Where’s _my_ love?” He asked with a smirk.

She toed off her shoes quickly and ran over to him, throwing herself into his arms and giggling when he picked her up with one arm. Lance smacked a kiss on Jemma’s cheek and she wrapped both arms around his neck.

“Hello, darlin’.” Her dad said. He put his beer on the windowsill and held Jemma with both arms. She always felt as though she was a little old to be carried, but it was such a lovely feeling to be cuddled that Jemma never complained. Her dad kissed her hair. “Have a good day?”

“I did.” Jemma told him as he carried her to the couch. They sat down and he opened one arm for Bobbi as she sat with them. “We went to where you got our tree.” Jemma’s eyes lay on the sparkling Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. It was beautiful. Bobbi had let Jemma pick out a selection of ornaments from the store, and they hung proudly at the front of the tree. The lights were red and gold, and Jemma thought that maybe this was exactly how Christmas was supposed to be.

“Got the trees for my mom.” Bobbi explained. She kissed Dad’s cheek. “Being delivered Monday, so whoever’s working the early shift is probably going to have to bring them all in.”

He smiled. “Not muggins, then.” Dad clapped. “I’m off Monday, aren’t I?”

“Yeah.” Jemma said. “Because you’re taking me to school with Skye.” She sighed. “Even though she probably doesn’t want to go to school with me, anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her dad asked. He glanced over at Bobbi and Jemma pretended not to notice.

“I don’t think Skye wants to be my friend anymore. Well, I _know_ she doesn’t.” Jemma mumbled. She climbed off the couch and wandered over to the Christmas tree. “She was angry with me today. I don’t know why.”

Bobbi sighed. “She’s just having one of her days, Hunter.” She mumbled to Jemma’s Dad. “You know how she gets.”

It always felt a little odd to hear someone refer to her dad as ‘Hunter’. It shouldn’t have, because Jemma had heard Bobbi doing it for almost as long as she could remember, but even years later it still felt a little weird. For most of her life, Jemma had had Lance. That’s what her mean parents had called him, that’s what she had called him. He was Lance, her big brother. Until he wasn’t anymore. Jemma was having to get used to a lot of new things recently. She didn’t really have a brother, Lance, anymore. She had a Dad, and a…. Bobbi. It was a nice thing to get used to.

“Mm.” He agreed with Bobbi. “Skye does have her days. Don’t worry about it, Jems.” Her Dad said, wrapping both arms around Bobbi. “Skye was probably just tired or something.”

“Yeah” Jemma smiled, reaching out to run her finger delicately over the tiny little bells decorating the tree. They made a little twinkling noise. “Maybe.”

…

Skye sat on the couch and watched TV with Mr. Snow until Daddy came in from work. It was some show on one of the kids’ channels they got where the cartoon looked straight out of the TV screen and asked the viewer questions, and then pretended to hear their answer. It was probably for much younger kids, Skye thought, but it was colourful and musical, and something that Skye didn’t have to concentrate on, much.

Mommy kept asking her about her trip to the tree lot and her play-date with Jemma, but Skye couldn’t really be bothered with the conversation and instead replied to her questions with nods, head shakes, and shrugs, eyes remaining on the bright animation. She didn’t want Mommy to know the bad things she had said to Jemma. Eventually, Mommy just kissed her on the head and left her alone in the living room.

“Hey.” Her dad called when he opened the front door.

Skye looked up from the TV and waved at him with her thumb still in her mouth. The cold from the outside made the hairs on her arms stand up and Skye held Mr. Snow tightly against her chest. Her dad frowned as he closed the door and took off his coat.

“Thumb. Out.” He said, walking over to the couch and leaning over to give Skye a kiss on her cheek. He pulled her hand away from her mouth. “The thumb stays out, Skye.” He reminded her, and it took all of Skye’s willpower not to just begin sucking it again.

“Sorry.” She muttered. “I forgot.” Skye hadn’t forgotten the ‘no thumb-sucking’ rule that had been in place in the house for the last three weeks, since her trip to the dentist, but it was easier to fib to her daddy than to admit she was openly disobeying her parents.

Her dad moved around the couch and sat down next to her. He switched the sound off the TV and turned to Skye. “I think you’ve been forgetting the rule quite a bit recently.”

She looked down at Mr. Snow to avoid her dad’s eyes. His white fur was beginning to look a little grubby and Skye wondered whether it would be a good idea to give him a bath.

“Skye.” Her dad prompted, pushing hair out of her eyes.

Skye pouted at him. “S’hard not to do it.” She sighed. “It feels nice.”

His face softened. “I know, honey. But it’s bad for your teeth.”

“Half of ‘em are just gonna fall out, anyways.” Skye muttered, then poked a particularly wobbly tooth on the top of her mouth with her tongue.

“That’s not the point, Skye.” Her Mommy said, coming back into the room. She sat down on the arm of the couch and leaned over Skye to kiss her dad. Her belly was in Skye’s face and the little girl automatically dropped her head to rest an ear against it.

Listening to the baby was something Skye did often, mostly because when she hugged her mommy, her head was at the perfect height to lean against the belly. Mommy and Daddy said the baby could hear her when she talked to it, so Skye was making sure to listen just as much as she talked just in case they were having a genius baby who could maybe already speak. It seemed unlikely, but she listened anyway.

Skye liked to pretend the baby could speak to her.

Her dad reached over Skye’s shoulders to rub her mommy’s belly. “And how’s my little baby doing today?”

“Good.” Skye answered on the baby’s behalf. “She says she missed you while you were at work.”

“Oh really?” Daddy smirked. “So she’s a ‘she’ today, huh?”

Skye paused and listened hard. The only sound she was rewarded with was the swooshing sound she could always hear, but today Skye imagined that the baby was in fact a girl. Yesterday she had thought boy, but she had since changed her mind.

“She’s a girl.” Skye said with a fair amount of certainty. She crinkled her nose. “Maybe she’s a girl.”

Daddy laughed and kissed her hair. “How was your day, Skye?”

She closed her eyes and hugged Mommy tighter. Skye felt her mom begin to thread her fingers through her hair. “I went to buy Christmas trees with Bobbi and Jemma.”

“Great.” Her dad muttered sarcastically, and her mom tapped him warningly across the head.

“I got a candy cane.” Skye smiled. “That was cool.”

“Sounds like a fun day.” Daddy said.

Skye shrugged. “It was okay. I didn’t really want to go to Bobbi’s and play with Jemma but I did anyways.”

“Why didn’t you want to go?” Mommy asked.

“I wanted to stay home with you.” Skye admitted. She rubbed her thumb over her lips but didn’t suck it. “I missed you, Mommy.”

“I missed you, too.”

“No.” Skye sighed. “I think I missed you more. You had the baby to stop you from being lonely.”

Her mom tickled the back of Skye’s neck. “Having the baby around doesn’t replace having you with me, though.” She said. “I still miss you, and love you very much.”

“Mmhm.” Skye said, closing her eyes. She rolled her shoulders when her dad put a hand on her back.

Skye’s Mommy and Daddy began talking about their days above her head. Daddy was asking Mommy if she had been feeling nauseous. Nauseous. Skye had learned that meant feeling like you were going to puke. Mommy seemed to always been feeling like that these days. Stupid baby.

Sometimes Skye _really_ didn’t like the baby.

Every time Mommy got sick because of the baby, Jemma told Skye how it was all a ‘natural part of pregnancy’. Jemma seemed to know a lot about where babies came from, and even though sometimes it was interesting, Skye sometimes didn’t want to listen about what was going to happen when the baby eventually came out. Jemma always stopped telling her about it when she asked. She was kind like that.

Jemma was really kind, and Skye hadn’t been very nice to her today. A ball of lead settled itself in Skye’s tummy, and no matter how hard she tried to ignore it and push it away, it refused to move. The image of Jemma looking upset at Skye’s actions kept playing out in her head when Skye closed her eyes.

“Oh no.” She said quietly, rubbing her fingers in the corners of her eyes until little white spots appeared.

Mommy pulled her hands away from her face. “What’s the matter, Skye?”

Skye pressed her lips together and looked between her parents. They were watching her with the same expressions they wore when she lost her temper and had tantrums. She shook her head.

“I did a bad thing today, I think.” Skye said quietly. She swallowed and looked down at Mr. Snow. Even he seemed to look disappointed.

Her dad glanced at her mom. “Okay.” He said slowly. “What did you do?”

“I think…” Skye pushed herself off the couch and stood by the coffee table, leaving her bear on the couch. She didn’t deserve cuddles after the way she had spoken to her Jemma. “I think I hurt Jemma’s feelings. I made her sad.”

“How?” Mommy asked. Her hand was rubbing her belly. Skye followed the movement with her eyes.

“I said mean things to her. Told her I didn’t want to play with her anymore.”

“I see.” Mommy said.

Skye bit her lip. “I said we weren’t friends.”

Mommy’s hand stopped moving on her tummy. “And how does saying those things to Jemma make you feel?”

Mommy and Daddy always asked Skye how things made her feel. She took a deep breath like Doctor Garner told her to do to calm down, and took an assessment of her feelings. It wasn’t hard to identify the feeling. It didn’t take her feelings doctor to tell her.

“I feel guilty.” Skye said with certainty. She looked to her Dad. “I need to say ‘sorry’.”

He nodded. “I think you maybe do.”

“Can we go now?” Skye asked suddenly, stepping towards her dad and tugging on his jacket. “Daddy we need to go now so I can apologise.”

He sighed. “It’s a little late, Skye. How about you just call her?”

“But,” Skye frowned and impatiently shifted from foot to foot, “look how sorry my face is.” She leaned closer to her father. “See? Jemma needs to see how sorry my face is.”

Her mom snorted then coughed when Skye looked over. She took a sip of water from the glass on the cabinet next to her and waved Skye off. “Sorry, honey. Continue.”

Skye nodded and looked back to Daddy. “It’s _important,_ Daddy. Please.” She pouted, sticking out her bottom lip and tilting her head to one side. It was a look that Hunter called her ‘kicked puppy’ expression. It didn’t really work on Mommy, or Bobbi, or Nat, but her Daddy, Clint, and Hunter were suckers for it.

“Oh, Skye.” Her daddy groaned and rubbed a hand over his face.

Skye batted her eyes. “Please, Daddy.”

He sighed heavily and stood up. “Come on, then. Get your coat on. It’s cold.”

She squeaked and ran off to grab her jacket from where she had left it on the hook by the door. It was a little high to get to, but Skye grabbed onto the hood of her coat and jumped a few times until the garment fell. She shrugged it on quickly, her sleeves uncomfortably pushing up to her elbows inside the jacket.

“We gotta leave right now, Daddy.” Skye said, running back into the living room. “Come _on._ ”

Her dad smiled. “I’m coming , I’m coming.” He leaned down to kiss her Mommy. “We’ll be back soon.” He said, and shook his head with a smile. “I love you.”

Mommy kissed him again. “Love you, too.” She turned to Skye and gestured her over with a tip of her head. Skye crossed the room and stopped at her Mommy’s side. “Hey,” Mommy said gently, “I’m so proud of you for doing this.”

“For doing what?”

“For knowing how important it is to apologise for doing wrong.” Mommy brushed hair away form Skye’s eyes.

Skye looked at her feet. “But I was mean.”

“But,” Mommy touched Skye’s chin and she looked up at her, “you understand that what you did was wrong. That’s something to be proud of. That means that maybe next time you can stop yourself before you act in that way again.”

She ran her top teeth over her bottom lip. “Yeah.”

Skye’s mommy kissed her head. “Go on, sweetie. Do what you have to.”

“Okay.” Skye said. She hugged Mommy tightly, wrapping her arms around her neck and pressing her nose into her shoulder. She had to stand at her side because the baby was in the way. “I’m sorry I was bad, Mommy.” She whispered.

“I know.”

Skye kneeled down and cupped her hands on Mommy’s tummy. She whispered to the baby. “I’ll be back soon. I’m not leaving forever.”

Daddy put a hand on Skye’s shoulder and she pulled away from her mom and looked up at him.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Okay.” Skye wiped at her eyes. She wasn’t crying, but they were stinging a little like she might begin to. “I need to say ‘sorry’ to Jemma.”

…

Clint stared at the overflowing suitcase in the middle of the bedroom and thought, not for the first time, that maybe they should think about either doing a ‘no presents’ Christmas, or checking another bag on their flight back to Chicago for the holidays. He blew out a breath and knelt down by the bag.

“Nat, there’s no fuckin’ way this thing is closing.” He said, half-heartedly flipping the lid and grimacing at the way it sat atop the pile of stuff within, showing absolutely no indication that it would ever zip closed. “How many more presents have we got to pack?”

“Six.” Nat said immediately from her position on the bed. She brushed some hair out of her eyes and stuck another piece of tape to whatever thing she was wrapping. “But two of them are pairs of socks, so they barely count.”

Clint chuckled at her concentration as she stuck out her tongue to apply the bow to the gift. He climbed up onto the bed next to her and kissed her cheek. She hummed.

“Hey.” Clint said, kissing her again. “I love you.”

“Sap.” She smirked, nudging his jaw with her nose. “I love you, too.” Natasha pushed the wrapped present to the foot of the bed with a socked toe, and pulled Clint to rest over her with a hand on the back of his neck. “C’mere.” She muttered, pulling him down for a long kiss.

“Mm.” He moved over her, putting one arm on the other side of her head and keeping his weight on his forearms. Clint nipped at her lip and Natasha kicked him playfully in the shin.

She pulled back from him, keeping a hand on his chest. “We still need to finish packing.”

“Hey,” Clint kissed her neck and felt her swallow under the tender pressure of his lips, “you were the one who pulled me up here.”

“Yeah, well…” her voice was strained and Clint smiled as he kissed up her jaw and back to her mouth, pushing a hand up the leg of her pyjama shorts. She gave him a peck. “My bad. But we really do need to get packed and the rest of this stuff wrapped.”

He let his weight pin Nat down and she squealed playfully. “Let’s just leave it until the last minute.”

“Get off.” Nat laughed. “I can’t breathe.”

He sat up and instead swung a leg over her, sitting on Natasha’s hips, trapping her there. She rolled her eyes at him.

“And anyway, we _did_ , leave it until the last minute. _This_ is kind of the last minute.”

He scoffed. “Not really.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s eight pm and our flight leaves in less than twelve hours.”

“Yeah. Twelve _whole_ hours to pack.” Clint danced his fingers over her stomach, pushing them under her ( _his_ ) hoodie and tickling her until she squirmed. “That’s so much time we could be doing other stuff….sexy stuff.”

“Sexy stuff?” Nat deadpanned.

Clint grinned. “Yeah.”

He leaned down to kiss her, rolling his hips and groaning into her mouth. She ran a heel up the back of his thigh and dipped her hand under the waistband of his sweatpants at his back.

“Maybe,” she said breathlessly, licking into his mouth, we’ve got a little time for sexy stuff.”

“You’re sexy stuff.” Clint responded.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Mm.” He kissed her again, and again, and again, until the overflowing suitcase and unwrapped Christmas presents were long forgotten by both of them. Clint hissed when Natasha clawed at his back, and then, right on cue to ruin their wonderful interaction, his phone began ringing.

“Ignore it.” Nat muttered into his mouth.

Clint didn’t even bother to respond verbally, just took her advice and focused more on Natasha’s moans than on the irritating chime of his cell phone. It stopped, as expected, but the respite was short-lived and it took up to ringing again within seconds of stopping.

“Go away.” Clint muttered at his phone, pulling it from his pocket and frowning at the screen. The number wasn’t blocked, but it was a cell phone number that wasn’t in his phonebook, and one he didn’t recognise.

Nat pulled away from him a little and sat up. “Maybe it’s important.” She said, nodding at the phone. “Could be from school or something.”

Clint couldn’t deny that. His lack of appearance in his classes recently had caused him to receive his fair share of phone calls from various departments of the college, showing their concern for his absence. Nat had, too, shown her concern, but like with the university staff, Clint had guiltily waved her off with an excuse of being busy and promises of try harder next semester.

The phone stopped ringing again. Then began for a third time.

“Answer it.” Natasha said, running a thumb over her lip and tucking some loose hair behind her ear.

He did, pressing the phone to his ear and climbing off Natasha. “Hello?”

_“Clinton_?”

He nearly dropped the phone.

“ _Clinton? That you_?”

He felt an icy cool rush through him, head to toe. Natasha put a hand on his knee but he couldn’t feel it.

“You okay?” She asked, rising up on her knees. “Clint? You’re pale. What’s the matter?”

“ _Clint? That you_? _I can hear you breathing. Is it you? Who’s that with ya?_ ”

Clint closed his eyes, squeezed them shut. “I don’t wanna talk to you.” He said through gritted teeth. “I’m done with you.”

“ _Aww, come on. Is that any way to speak to your big brother?_ ”

…

A quiet house was something people seemed to think Melinda needed. Maria had taken to texting her before just calling around for coffee and a chat in case she was sleeping or something. Bobbi had been wonderfully generous in picking up Skye from school and keeping her over at their house for a few hours after school, because she wanted to give her mother a break. Even Phil had decided that she needed to be treated with a little more care, helping her in and out of the car and constantly telling her she was ‘ _glowing’_. It made her feel sicker than the baby did.

She was grateful. Of _course_ she was grateful. Having a house full of kids was tiring at the best of times, and Skye could be a handful to say the least, but she really wished they would all just chill out. It was moving on from being endearing to being simply irritating. She was pregnant, not dying, after all.

Melinda sat for all of thirty seconds in the quiet living room after Skye and Phil had left, before deciding she needed to be up and doing something. Skye had been out with Bobbi, and Phil had been at work all day, and really, Mel was just looking forward to a night of not being bored and on her own. She sighed and wandered over to the stairs, deciding it wouldn’t be the worst thing if she let Skye stay up past her bedtime just so that she could spend a little time with her.

If only to keep her hands busy, Melinda decided that she would clean up Skye’s room a little for her coming back home. The little girl was meant to keep it tidy herself, and generally she did, but there were things that an eight year old didn’t really consider when cleaning her room that Mel did. For one, she thought, pushing open Skye’s door, there appeared to be more stuff pushed under her bed than in the closet. Mel smiled fondly.

“Kids.” She muttered. “All the same.” Even now, Natasha was terrible for pushing things under her bed and declaring the room ‘clean’. It seemed Skye was taking after her big sister.

Mel got down on her knees, ignoring the protesting ache from her back, and pushed her hand under the bed, pulling out a handful of what first appeared to be complete crap. It seemed to be a random pile of crumpled paper, and Mel was about to throw it all in the trash when she realised it was less of a pile of crap and more of an unorganised pile of school work.

“Oh, Skye.” She murmured, sitting back against the bed and inspecting the pile.

Most of it was completed and marked homework sheets, and with a small swell of pride, Mel realised most of them had little smiley faces drawn in green pen. Her little girl had been trying so hard in school, and Mel couldn’t really work out why she would hide her marked schoolwork from her. There was another sheet, a reading comprehension sheet that Mel suspected was not homework, but work from school because she didn’t recognise it. The paper was crumpled, like it had been crushed into a ball, and had scribbles all over the area where Pepper had marked Skye as having gotten a six out of twenty.

“Sweetheart.” Mel sighed, finding several other similar papers at the bottom of the stack. “Looks like we need to have a little talk.”

She put the work to one side and reached under the bed once more, this time coming away with a small red workbook. Mel read the front of it, recognising Pepper’s handwriting that declared the book to be Skye’s ‘Journal’, and her classroom number. She frowned. The book was one she hadn’t seen before, and when Melinda flicked through the filled pages of Skye’s writing, she suddenly realised why. It wasn’t just another school exercise book; it was essentially, Skye’s diary.

The latest entry was from a few days previous, the date carefully printed at the top of the page in pencil. It seemed wrong to read it, Melinda thought. Somehow it seemed to be an intrusion of Skye’s privacy to read her journal, but then, Mel rationalised, it _was_ a schoolbook, and she had every right to investigate why her youngest daughter was trying to hide things from her.

_Today,_ Mel read to herself, mentally bypassing some of Skye’s interesting spelling choices, _I have to go to my big sister’s house after school. I go there a lot because my Mommy is having a baby and she’s tired and sick a lot. I think I must get in the way when I’m at home with her._

Melinda rubbed a hand over her belly. She’d been suffering from bouts of sickness but nothing too terrible, and she felt guilty that Skye felt like she was being pushed around because of it. Her little girl was anything but in the way, she was what _made_ the house a home.

_When I go to Bobbi’s house today, I’m probably going to play with Jemma. I’m really glad Jemma’s in our family now, even though she is sometimes annoying. Grant asked me if I wanted to go to his house to play after school and Miss Potts said she could ask my Mommy on the phone but I said ‘no’ because I don’t know if I would be allowed to go when Mommy’s sick._

Mel shook her head and rubbed her eyes with her fingertips. She wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to read any more of Skye’s words. They played out in her head in Skye’s little voice and she took a deep breath. It destroyed her to think that they had been giving Skye the impression that she wasn’t allowed to play with her friends or even spend time at home because of the pregnancy. The guilt bit at Mel’s consciousness.

She flicked at the book in frustration and the pages turned to another of Skye’s journal entries, dated from just over a week ago. Mel tried not to read it but her will power was vying and the desperation to find something positive in Skye’s writing was becoming more and more insistent.

_I’m going to be adopted._ Skye’s words said. _And Daddy says that when I’m adopted, I can change my name. I thought maybe I could change it to ‘Daisy’, because I like that name, but then I thought no, because I like ‘Skye’ more. I’m going to be ‘Skye Coulson’. Grant says I should pick a middle name, but right now I can’t think of one. That’s okay, though, because Mommy says adoption takes a long time, so I’ve got time to think of it._

“Baby.” Mel breathed.

_I want to be adopted really bad. When I’m adopted, I can’t be sent away when the baby comes. It’s going to be a long time until the baby’s here, and I hope I get adopted before then so that I don’t go back to St Agnes’ when the baby comes. Mommy and Daddy will love it more than me, but that’s okay as long as I don’t have to go back._

If her heart wasn’t already broken in reading Skye’s journal, it was that statement that obliterated it completely. Melinda was crying and it had nothing to do with the pregnancy hormones she was suffering. They had failed as parents. They had let Skye believe that she was going to be second best to a baby who wasn’t even properly in their lives yet.

She left the journal on the floor and pulled herself up. Crying wasn’t going to help, Mel told herself, and so, she decided to go back downstairs, make Skye her favourite dinner and dessert, and pamper that little girl so much that she had no doubt in her mind as to her importance to Melinda and Phil. Skye was going to _know_ how much she was adored.

…

“I just don’t get it.” Bobbi said, shaking her head at the TV. She looked to Hunter and Jemma, sat by her side and at her feet, respectively, and marvelled at how they could be glued to the television watching such a weird show. “It makes no sense.”

Jemma looked up at her, loose curls falling away from her face as she tilted her head. “Which part don’t you understand?”

“For starters, how he’s a doctor when I’m fairly sure he’s never been to medical school.” Bobbi muttered, grimacing in confusion when some rhinos in leather kilts began marching across the screen. “Not the mention the fact that no one actually questions why a lonely old man might invite young, attractive women into his…box.”

Hunter huffed. “It’s his _name_ not his job title.” He ignored her latter comment.

“Not exactly.” Jemma said. “Technically, the Doctor has an _actual_ name-,”

The doorbell rang, but it didn’t deter Jemma from her explanation of the British show. Bobbi excused herself to answer it, although it seemed as though the discussion had both Hunter and Jem occupied enough that they didn’t even notice her departure.

She opened the front door. “Oh, hey.” Bobbi said, finding her dad and little sister looking back at her. “What are you doing here? Everything alright?”

Skye shook her head as she stared at her feet. Bobbi looked to her dad. He had a hand on Skye’s shoulder.

“Skye needs to talk to Jemma.” He explained. He rolled his eyes fondly. “Apparently it couldn’t be done over the phone.”

“Okay.” Bobbi said, stepping aside to allow them in. She closed the door behind her dad and followed the two of them into the living room. “Jems? Someone here to see you.”

The little girl looked up, and smiled, before her eyes fell on Skye and her face fell. “Hello.” She said.

“Hi.” Skye replied, scuffing the toe of her shoe on the carpet.

Bobbi watched the two children interact, moving to stand next to her father. “What’s going on?” She asked him, and he put a finger to his lips and nodded at the kids. Bobbi turned to them.

Skye was ringing her hands, eyes cast downward to Jemma’s knees. “I came to say ‘sorry’, Jemma.” She said.

“Oh.” Jemma seemed unable to decide what to do next. She looked to Hunter, who in typical Hunter fashion, shrugged and made a face. Jem looked back to Skye and reached one hand out to gracelessly pat her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“Okay.” Skye said.

“Okay.” Jemma said.

Bobbi smirked. The whole thing was so cringe worthy that she almost regretted not filming it just to embarrass both of them when they were older. Her dad cleared his throat and both girls looked over.

“Maybe,” He said, looking at Skye, “you could explain to Jemma why we drove all the way over here for you to say ‘sorry.’”

Skye nodded, and with a little more confidence, looked back to Jemma. “I’m sorry I was mean to you, Jemma. I want to be your friend, and I’m sorry I was a horrible person.”

Jemma shook her head. “Oh, Skye. You’re not horrible.” She reached out and took Skye’s hand, and Bobbi thought her heart might explode. “You hurt me a little, but I forgive you, and I’d really love to be your friend.”

“Really?”

Bobbi thought Skye’s grin might split her face in two.

“Yes. If you want to be friends.”

Skye nodded, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. “I do. I do. We can be _best_ friends.”

“But you already have a best friend.” Jemma said.

“I can have two.” Skye assured her. “You’re my best girlfriend and Grant’s my best boyfriend.”

Bobbi’s heard her dad sniff. “No dating until you’re thirty.” He muttered, but the kids didn’t hear him.

Bobbi turned to him. “Remember when you used to tell me that?” She smirked.

He glanced at Hunter. “Yes. I can now only rely on Skye and Nat to live up to my no dating rule.”

Bobbi scoffed, thinking of the conversations she had with Natasha over the phone on a regular basis. “You’re deluding yourself if you think Nat and Clint’s relationship is platonic.”

Her dad glared at her. “Let me believe that my teenage daughter is in DC studying politics and not the inside of Clint Barton’s mouth.”

“From what I’ve heard, Nat’s been studying more that the inside of his mouth.” Bobbi turned away from her father, biting her lip to keep from laughing hysterically at his horror-stricken expression.

“Can we?” Jemma asked Bobbi, pulling on her shirt, Skye grinning by her side. “Please?”

“Huh?” Bobbi said blankly, now aware she had been too busy discussing her sister’s sex life with her father, to listen to the children in the room. “What?”

“Can we have a sleepover?” Jemma asked, and Skye nodded her assent. “Tonight?”

“Please, Daddy?” Skye pouted.

“Look away, Phil!” Hunter cried. “She’s doing the ‘kicked puppy’ look.”

Phil sighed. “Okay-,” both girl’s cheered, “but _only_ if it’s okay with Bobbi and Hunter.”

Bobbi was strangely proud when both little girls ignored Lance, and instead turned to her for approval.

“Well, Bobo,” Lance grinned, “looks like they know who wears the trousers in this house.

Skye scrunched up her nose. “You’re _both_ wearing pants.”

“It’s an expression.” Jemma informed her, and Skye nodded.

“Can we please have our sleepover, Bobbi?” Jemma asked again, the pout and sad eyes switching on, “We _are_ best friends.”

“Urg.” Bobbi groaned playfully. “Fine, but you both better be asleep by ten or so help me I _will_ wake you both up at five am to go for a run.”

The girls looked at each other and nodded.

“Agreed.” Skye said, stepping forward to hug Bobbi. Jemma followed and Bobbi leaned over to kiss the two children. “I love you.” Skye said.

“I love you, too.” Bobbi smiled.

Skye looked up at her. “I was talking to my Jemma.”

“Oh.” Bobbi said and heard her dad chuckle

“But I love you, too.” Skye added quickly. “I love _all_ my family. Even Hunter.”

“Hey!”

Skye smirked at him. “I said you _too,_ Teacup.”

Hunter groaned at the nickname he pretended to hate. “Fucking hell, even the kids are saying it.”

“Swear jar!” Jemma exclaimed.

“I told you,” Skye said seriously, “you can borrow ours.”

“I think we need it.” Jem said.

Bobbi’s dad kissed Skye and gave Bobbi and pat on the back as he left the house. “Good luck, Bob. Skye, I love you, have a good time.”

“Bye, Daddy.” Skye called. “Tell Mommy I love her and tell the baby that I’m coming home, I’m not gone forever.”

“Right.” Her dad said, frowning at the odd request, but then smiling and pulling the front door closed behind him.

Bobbi watched as Skye turned to Jemma, and whispered, a little louder than she perhaps intended, “I don’t want the baby to think it can replace me if I’m not there.”

Jemma said nothing to that, just held Skye’s hand and began pulling her towards the stairs. “We’re going to get ready for bed.” She said. “Come on, Skye, you can borrow some of my pyjamas.”

Hunter left the couch to cross the room and wrap his arms around Bobbi. She kissed his neck and he pecked her lips.

“That worries me.”

“What Skye just said?”

He shook his head. “No, their little friendship they’ve got going on. I feel like they’re going to be trouble.” His grin fell and he cocked his head at Bobbi. “Why? What did Skye say?”

“It’s probably nothing.” Bobbi said. “Don’t worry about it.”

He kissed her. “I have a daughter now, I worry about a lot of things.”

“Me, too.” Bobbi said.

“Yeah. But that’s what mums and dads are supposed to do.” Lance smiled when there was a squealing laugh from upstairs. “Best life ever.”


	2. We're Worried

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the feedback on the las chapter. I really appreciate it. I hope you like this one just as much. xxx

Natasha climbed off the bed and attempted to follow Clint as he began pacing around their apartment, cell phone still gripped in one hand and pushed against his ear. She could see from the way the screen was pushed against his hearing aid, that it must have been hurting him, but his gritted teeth and sickly pallor, Nat suspected, was not from any pain in his ears, but from whatever was occurring on the other side of the phone.

“Leave me alone.” Clint growled to whoever was on the phone. He seemed to not even see Nat as he strode past her into the kitchen.

“Clint?” She asked, trying to step into his line of sight, but he looked down and ran a hand over his face.

“No, you listen to _me._ ” Clint hissed, turning in a full circle and smacking a hand down on the bench top.

Natasha didn’t jump, just put a hand over his. He didn’t pull away, but didn’t look at her either.

“I want you to go away.” He said. The words were calm, but his expression was livid. “Stop calling me. I want nothing from you.”

She stepped closer, attempting to listen to the voice on the other end, but with no luck. Nat didn’t really know who it could be. She was worried. Clint had been a little off for a few weeks, but she hadn’t really given it much thought. Natasha herself was guilty of having her moments, and Clint had always been supportive thought them, even when she broke down and decided that she had no idea what to do with her life. He was great at being there, and she was just trying to do the same.

He hadn’t been going to his classes, she knew. On occasion she had mentioned it, and Clint had smiled and told her he was busy with homework from other classes and that he would _definitely_ go to all of his classes next semester. She accepted the lie for what it was; an attempt to keep her from worrying. Which was why Natasha had first suspected the phone call may have been from school. It was two weeks until Christmas, and they had both just finished their finals. It seemed appropriate that a concerned tutor might choose to call Clint and maybe recommend some studying for over the holidays.

The way he was reacting, however, suggested that it was not the case.

Clint’s breath hitched and Natasha squeezed his hand. “I want nothing to do with you. Nothing.” He said.

Natasha gripped his hand. He closed his eyes and she was heartbroken to see that little droplets of tears shone on his lashes. “What’s going on?” She asked quietly.

Clint turned his hand over in hers and held onto her tightly. He took a deep, shaking breath, nostrils flaring as he exhaled. “I _hate_ you.” He said, and then Natasha didn’t need to be told who was on the other end of the phone. Clint only hated, truly despised, one person, and it was someone that Natasha felt entirely the same about.

“Give it.” She said, grabbing the phone out of Clint’s grasp, startling him.

He blinked at her, but didn’t try to stop her.

“You.” Natasha spat into the phone. “You _dare_ call him-,”

“ _Lovely to speak to you, too, sexy._ ” Barney Barton’s voice drawled. It made Nat’s blood boil to be able to sense that he was smiling as he spoke.

“You are _not_ a part of his life anymore, Barney.” Natasha said. “We’re through with you. Done.”

“ _Come on, Svetlana.”_ Barney said, his voice sickly sweet. He’d always called her Russian names just to make her mad. She tried to ignore it. “ _You know you missed me.”_

“What? While you were in prison?” Nat scoffed and turned away from Clint. He was leaning over the sink, a hand on either side.

“ _’Were’ being the operative word. I’m out.”_ He declared.

“How is that even possible?” Natasha shook her head. “They put you away for five years. I know.” She said. “I was _there_.”

“ _Yeah, I remember. You and my brother, front and centre while a judge threw me away.”_ Barney laughed bitterly. _“My own brother and his little piece giving evidence against me. Traitors.”_

Natasha tried to swallow past her anger. The rage she felt inside at Barney Barton threatened to spill out, and she twitched at the feeling of Clint placing a hand on her back. She leaned into him.

“You deserved so much worse.” She told Barney, truthfully.

“ _Maybe.”_ He said. _“But let me tell you, Anastasia, two years away from my brother was enough. I’m out, and I wanna see him.”_

“You got five.” Nat breathed. Clint’s hand snaked around her waist. He was scared.

“ _I’ve been on my best behaviour.”_ Barney laughed. “ _Idiots let me out early.”_

“Leave us alone.” Natasha growled. She bit down on her voice cracking and gritted her teeth. “Leave him alone.”

“ _See you soon, Natalia.”_

“Don’t call me that.”

“ _Tell Clinton I’m excited to see him again, and you, well, I expect you’re looking as beautiful as ever.”_

The phone call ended, and Natasha let the phone fall from her fingers. Clint caught her around the waist as she dropped to the ground, pressing his face into her cheek.

“It’s gonna be okay.” He told her, and Natasha shook her head. Her face was damp.

“You’re crying, Clint.” She observed. “Clint?”

He held her close, both of them curled into the other on the living room floor. “Yeah?”

“Clint,” Nat whispered, lips moving against his neck, “I’m scared.”

His chest shuddered under her fingers. “Me, too.”

…

Skye moved over in Jemma’s bed so that her friend could climb in beside her. It wasn’t a bed designed for two people, but the little girls were still small enough that to share the bed wasn’t uncomfortable. Jemma’s hair splayed across the pillow when she lay down and tickled Skye’s nose. She gently pushed it aside.

“Okay, you two.” Bobbi said, leaning over the bed and straightening the sheets. “It’s late, way past both of your bedtimes, so when I come back and check in on you in half an hour, I want to see both of you fast asleep.”

Skye grinned at her sister. “Why not _slow_ asleep?” She said, giggling when Bobbi rolled her eyes.

Bobbi leaned over and kissed Skye. “You’re not as funny as you think.” She said, and tickled Skye’s side.

She tried to squirm away but stopped when she felt her legs touch the edge of the bed. Jemma reached over and pulled Skye back into the centre of the bed.

“Don’t fall out.” Jemma laughed.

“You saved me!” Skye smiled. She kissed Jemma’s cheek. “Thanks, Jem.”

“Okay.” Bobbi said, kissing Jemma. “Night, you guys. Sweet dreams.”

“Night, Bobbi.” Skye said.

Jemma reached out and pulled Bobbi back down for another hug and kiss. “Night, night. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Bobbi smiled at them both and left the room, flicking the little colour-changing nightlight on that was plugged into the socket by the door. She pulled the door almost closed, leaving a sliver of light from the landing to seep into the room.

Skye wiggled her toes, brushing them against the soft blankets on Jemma’s bed. She wasn’t wearing any socks, and her feet were a little cold, but she didn’t really mind, the rest of her was warm enough. Jemma had loaned her some of her pyjamas to wear, and although they were a little big, Skye was more than comfortable.

“Do you have enough room?” Jemma asked her, eyes almost sparkling in the dim light.

“Mmhm.” Skye nodded, shuffling a little just to make sure. “Do you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good.”

Jemma turned onto her side, resting her head on one hand. Skye copied.

“We should tell secrets.” Skye whispered. “That’s what you’re supposed to do on sleepovers.”

“It is?” Jemma crinkled her nose. “I suppose I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a sleepover before.”

Skye was surprised. “Why not?” She asked. It seemed ridiculous to think that someone as amazing as Jemma wouldn’t have had sleepovers with her friends. “Do you not have slumber parties in England?”

“No, we do.” Jemma said. “I just never had any friends to invite me.”

“Oh.” Skye said, unsure how to respond. “Why didn’t you have friends?”

Jemma sighed and adjusted her position a little. “I just wasn’t very popular. People don’t seem to like me.” She shrugged and looked down at her hands.

Skye sat up in the bed, frown evident on her face. “ _I_ like you.” She told Jemma. “I’m your friend.”

“Yeah,” Jemma smiled, looking back up, “but you didn’t like me today.”

Skye blushed and settled back down in the bed. The guilt from earlier in the day arose once more. “But that wasn’t your fault, really. That was me.”

“But I must have given you reason to dislike me.”

“Maybe a little.”

Jemma continued to trace the heart patterns of her bed sheets with her fingers. “What was it?” She asked. “What did I do to make you not like me?”

Skye rubbed her eye. “I told you, it was nothing you did. Not _really,_ I was just in a bad mood.”

“But I want to know.” Jemma said impatiently. “If I knew, then I could stop doing it, and then I would have friends.”

Skye curled into herself a little, pulling her knees up. “You have friends at school.” She said, because in her class, Skye had lots of friends, not just Grant. There was Jessica, and Peter, and Joey, and Donnie, and the others. Jemma _must_ have friends in her class, too.

Jemma didn’t say anything. She pulled a blanket out from under her pillow, dislodging Skye’s head a bit as she did. The blanket was pink, very pale pink, with holes at the corners and snags in the satin trim. Skye watched as Jemma began threading the satin part through her fingers.

“It’s, um,” Jemma stuttered, looking away from Skye, “I don’t _need_ it, I just…” She trailed off and Skye put a hand on her arm.

“It’s okay.” She said. “I don’t mind if you need your blanket.”

Jemma looked up and smiled. “I think I’m too old for it.”

“I have a teddy bear.” Skye offered. “He sleeps with me every night.” She frowned upon realising that Mr. Snow would have to sleep alone tonight, since she had neglected to bring him along for the impromptu slumber party. “Most nights we sleep together.”

“Do you miss him?”

Skye nodded. She rubbed her thumb over her lips.

Jemma climbed out of bed, taking her blanket with her, and crossed her bedroom to the far corner where the light from the night-light barely reached. Skye watched as she bent down over a box and began rifling through it.

“I don’t want you to feel lonely, and she might not be as good as your teddy at home, but maybe she can sleep with you tonight?” Jemma climbed back into bed with a small white toy in her hands. “Here.” She said, holding out the plush toy to Skye.

Skye squinted in the dark to get a proper look at what appeared to be a little white mouse in a ballerina costume.

“Her name’s Angelina.” Jemma said. “I think Lance bought her for me a long time ago but I can’t really remember. She’s a ballerina.”

“Like Tasha.” Skye said, smoothing two fingers over Angelina’s soft fur. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Jemma beamed. “I didn’t know Natasha was a ballerina.”

“Yeah.” Skye said. “Not so much anymore, but we have pictures of her in the house in her costumes from competitions.” It had become a favourite pastime of Skye’s to look through the old photo albums of Natasha as a younger teenager caked in garish make-up and posing in frighteningly flexible ways with various trophies. “Not just ballet, either.” She added. “Lots of dances.”

“I spoke to Natasha on the phone yesterday.” Jemma said after a few seconds. “She was nice.”

Skye looked over at her. “She is. Tasha’s the best. I love her. And I bet you’ll love her, too when she comes to visit with Clint. They’re gonna be here soon, but Mommy said she didn’t know exactly when.”

“Do you think they’ll like me?” Jemma asked with a little worry.

“Of course.” Skye said quickly. “I promise they will.”

That seemed to quell some of the concerns Jemma had about meeting Skye’s other sister, because she lay her head down on the pillow and smiled, rubbing the satin of the pink blanket under her nose. Skye watched her.

“You called Hunter, ‘Lance’.” Skye said.

Jemma smirked and moved the blanket away from her face. “That _is_ his name.”

Skye giggled. “I _know,_ I just meant that you didn’t call him ‘Dad’. And you always call him Dad.”

“Sometimes I just forget.” Jemma said wistfully. “And, _Dad_ , didn’t buy me Angelina, _Lance_ did. He was still my brother, then.”

“Is it weird, having your Dad be your brother?”

“Yes.” Jemma said immediately. She wrinkled her nose. “People don’t understand.”

“Mm.” Skye nodded. She got that. Lots of the kids at school she spoke to didn’t understand why Grant had Miss Potts for a mom when he already had one, and why Skye hadn’t lived with her mommy and daddy her whole life. “It doesn’t matter, though.” She said to Jemma. “As long as you love them and they love you.”

“I suppose.” Jemma said. She sighed again. “I just wish the other children at school saw it that way.”

Skye rubbed her cheek with the sleeve of her borrowed pyjamas. “Some people at school just don’t get it.” She said. “At least you’re good at school. I’m not very good, that’s why I gotta be in the second grade class.”

“But you like school?” Jemma asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Skye grinned. She shook some hair out of her face. “Sometimes I don’t like class because it’s hard and Miss Potts has to give me different work, and it’s a little embarrassing,” she tried her best not to blush, but Jemma just smiled at her kindly and didn’t comment, “but recess is so much fun. We always play the _best_ games, and sometimes at the end of the day, Miss Potts reads us a story and lets us colour.”

“We don’t really colour in our classroom.” Jemma said. “I’d like to, though.”

“You would?” Skye was surprised. “I thought you wouldn’t like colouring because you’re so smart.”

Jemma frowned. “Just because I’m intelligent, it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to colour in.”

Skye shrugged.

“Anyway,” Jemma said, “it would be nice to do something other than work at school.” Her eyes widened like she had said something wrong, and was quick to backtrack. “Not that I don’t _love_ my schoolwork, it’s just, I do occasionally like some leisure time.”

“Recess.” Skye said. “That’s leisure time.”

“Not for me.” Jemma muttered into her blanket.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“Jemma?” Skye shuffled closer. “Jemma?” She said more insistently, touching Jemma’s chin to force her to look her in the eye. Jemma did, and Skye frowned. “What do you mean? Why don’t you like recess?”

Jemma shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, Skye.”

It made no sense. Skye _loved_ recess. It was basically the best part of her school day. She genuinely couldn’t fathom why Jemma wouldn’t feel the same. “But your recess is in the _big_ playground.” She reminded. “You have the high monkey bars to play on.”

“It’s just not very fun.” Jemma said quietly. “The other kids, they…” She trailed off, avoiding Skye’s eyes, and with a horribly sinking feeling, Skye suddenly realised why Jemma might not enjoy recess so much.

“What about the other kids?” She asked.

“They…they just…” Jemma blinked at Skye. Her eyes were swimming.

Skye pushed her face closer to Jemma, squashing her blanket and Angelina the mouse in between them. “Jemma?” Skye whispered. “Are the other kids being mean to you?” She held her breath as she waited for Jemma’s answer, desperately hoping she was wrong in her suspicions, but then, Jemma was nodding.

“They don’t like me.” She said, voice catching. “They, um, they tease me.”

“They’re not allowed to do that.” Skye told her. She flared her nostrils. “Jemma, they _can’t_ do that. We gotta tell someone, we gotta tell-,”

“No!” Jemma hissed, effectively cutting Skye off. “It’s a secret. You wanted to tell secrets and this is a secret.”

Skye stared at her.

“Please, Skye. Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

“But,” Skye said, “they’re being mean to you, bullying you, Jemma. It’s not fair.”

“Not _all_ the time. Just some of the time. Most of he time they just ignore me.” Jemma reached out and took Skye’s hand, squeezing it. “You’re my best friend Skye, my _only_ friend. Please, promise me you’ll keep it a secret.”

Skye bit her lip and looked down at their joined hands. She was in a dilemma. Mommy told her that keeping secrets was wrong when a person was getting hurt, whether it meant herself or the other person, and this was a situation exactly like that. On the other hand, Bobbi and Nat always told her that sisters could tell each other anything and sometimes keeping their secrets was okay. Jemma wasn’t exactly her _sister_ , but she was Bobbi’s…something, and maybe that was close enough.

“Okay.” Skye said eventually, still feeling uneasy. “I won’t tell.”

Jemma beamed at her.

“But,” Skye continued, “if the kids are mean to you again, I might have to tell.”

Jemma looked conflicted, but nodded. “Okay.” She said in a small voice.

Skye stroked Jemma’s hair like Mommy did. “No one is allowed to hurt us, Jem.” Skye told her. “My mommy and daddy say that we’re safe now. No one is allowed to hurt us.”

“I know.”

“But those kids are hurting you.”

Jemma closed her eyes and Skye continued stroking her hair.

“The children at school aren’t so bad.” Jemma said. “I’d rather feel safe at home and a little anxious at school than what it was like in London.”

Skye’s hand stopped. “And what was it like in London?”

Jemma opened her eyes. “I used to be terrified of going home.”

It was a feeling Skye could most certainly relate to. She thought to the foster parents who had beaten and bullied her before her final stint at the orphanage. She had been reluctant to return home from school every day, fearing the worst.

“Were you scared of your parents?” Skye asked in a voice barely a whisper.

“Yes.” Jemma replied. “But they weren’t my parents. You shouldn’t be scared of your parents.”

“No.” Skye agreed, and moved to pull Jemma into a hug. The other little girl wrapped an arm around Skye’s waist as they cuddled. “You’ve got a real family now.”

“Yeah.” Jemma sniffled.

“Hunter’s your daddy.”

“Mmhm.” Jemma nodded.

Skye kissed her cheek. “And Bobbi is the mommy.”

“Yeah.”

“And,” Skye paused, thinking it through, “I guess _my_ mommy and daddy are your…grandparents?”

Jemma looked at her. “Huh. Maybe.” She scrunched up her nose. “But then, that would make you my auntie.”

“Oh.” Skye said. “Maybe not.”

“It’s confusing.” Jemma noted, cuddling close to Skye. “But good.”

“The best.” Skye agreed. “We’re safe, Jem. We’ve got a real family now.” She closed her eyes and pushed her nose into Jemma’s soft hair. “Night, Jemma.”

“Goodnight, Skye.”

…

“She wanted to stay?” Melinda asked Phil for the third time. “You’re _sure_?”

“Yes.” Phil said, a little exasperatedly, but with a fond smile as he twisted spaghetti onto his fork. “I’m sure. She and Jemma really wanted to have a sleepover.”

“Mm.” Mel said, running her fork over the remaining sauce on her plate. She felt a little anxious about Skye being away from home, and focused on that feeling more than the bubbling disappointment of having had Phil return home without their little girl. “It’s just,” She said, looking over at him, “she’s not used to being way from us. Not overnight.”

“She’s stayed at Tony and Pepper’s before.” Phil said, gesturing with a piece of bread. “She was fine then.”

“That was different.” Mel muttered.

“How?”

“Because,” She sighed, putting her utensils down and leaning back in her chair, “I was _there._ I helped her pack her bag, and I dropped her off and she had her bear.” Mel waved in the direction of the living room where Mr. Snow was currently sitting on the couch.

“Mel,” Phil smiled, “she’ll be fine.”

“But she loves that damn bear. Maybe,” Mel stood up, “I’ll take it to her. And then I’ll know she’ll be able to sleep. I’ll drive over and take him to her.”

“Melinda.” Phil said firmly, standing up and putting both hand on her shoulders. “Skye’s fine. She’s okay.”

“But-,”

“She’s literally five minutes away, sleeping in bed with Jemma, with her big sister and Hunter in the next room.” He brushed a thumb over her cheek. “I know you’re worried about her being away, but, honestly, Skye will be fine. We’ll go pick her up tomorrow morning.”

She closed her eyes and took a calming breath. “Okay.” Mel said, opening her eyes. She kissed Phil, wrapping both arms around his torso and pulling away from the kiss to rest her head on his shoulder. “I’m worried about her.”

“I know. I am, too.” Phil kissed her temple and rocked them gently. “But she’s getting better. Andrew’s been working wonders with her.”

“Mm.” She agreed. The doctor really had. His work with Natasha and her anger had been wonderful, but Mel had been a little weary about sending Skye for sessions with the man, only because the little girl had been to a psychologist in the past and it hadn’t helped, and sending her to a _psychiatrist_ seemed a little like overkill. Garner had proved her wrong, and Skye _had_ been coping better since her sessions with him. “I still worry about her.” She said.

Phil didn’t say anything, and Mel took the opportunity to tell him about the schoolwork and the journal she had found under Skye’s bed. He listened intently, and then led them over to the couch. Melinda sat down and placed Mr. Snow in her lap.

“She thinks we’re going to love the baby more than her?” Phil said quietly. He looked devastated when he said it, and Mel had to look down at the bear rather than at him. “How can she think that? How could we have let her believe that?”

“I don’t know.” She said. Melinda pressed her nose into Mr. Snow’s fur. He smelled like Skye. “I love her so much.”

Phil opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He took Mel’s hand and squeezed. “I love our kids.” He said, a catch in his voice. “Bobbi and Nat. Skye. I _adore_ them.” He smiled. “I love the baby, I do, Melinda, but right now, it’s not…I…”

Mel squeezed his hand and he looked at her. “I _know_.” She said. “The baby, I love it, too, so damn much,” she put a hand on her stomach, “but there is no way in hell I would put it before the children I already have. Not before Skye.” She felt horrified at herself. “I’m a horrible mother. I don’t mean that, I mean, I do, but that makes it sound like I don’t want our baby and that’s not true, Phil, I-,”

He cut off her ramblings. “I get it. You’re _not_ a bad mother. It’s not unreasonable to prioritise your eight year old, who is in dire need of some loving reassurance, over a baby who hasn’t even got a name yet.” He frowned. “It sounds harsher than it is, but it’s okay to put Skye ahead of the baby at this point.” He sighed. “God knows when it’s born we’re going to have an even harder time making sure Skye gets the time with us that she needs.”

“Are we bad people?” Mel asked. “Adopting a little girl who needs us and then bringing another baby in on that?”

“Nah.” Phil smiled, wrapping her in a hug. “We’re just multi-taskers. We like to take on lots of projects at once.”

Melinda smiled. Phil always did know how to make her feel better. She kissed him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Not letting me freak out, too much.” She grinned. “At least not yet. I’m totally going to have a full on mental breakdown at some point between now and when the baby’s born. And probably several more after that.”

He chuckled and tightened his arms around her. “I look forward to it.”

…

“This?” Clint asked, holding up one of Natasha’s winter coats.

She glanced over. Her hair was falling out of its ponytail and the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead caught the light from the desk lamp in the bedroom. “I’ll wear it.” She said, putting a knee on the top of the second suitcase and gritting her teeth to zip it closed. “This one’s full, too.” She crossed the room and took the coat from Clint, shrugging it on over her many other layers. “We have to go.”

“Yeah.” Clint agreed. He could feel beads of sweat rolling down his back, a result of the three shirts and two hoodies he was wearing, as well as the sheer stress of the situation. “We gotta go, Nat. Barney knew my cell number. If he got out and knew that, he _has_ to know where we live.”

She pressed her lips together, but nodded. Her cheeks were pink in a hot flush from the layers, but it was the only way they could fit as much stuff as they could into bags from the apartment. Two suitcases were filled mostly with the gifts they had already packed before the call, and all the personal items they wanted to take with them. The rest of the essentials; money, passports, toiletries- were packed into their own backpacks.

Clint kissed Nat’s head. She was hot and clammy against his lips. “Come on, let’s go.”

He grabbed the cases and shouldered his own backpack, trusting Nat to follow. She did, for a few paces, but then he heard her stop. “Come on, Nat. We gotta go.” Clint turned to see her standing over the dresser in their room, staring at the collection of notes and photographs tacked to the mirror. “Nat?”

“I’m coming.” She said in a small voice, and began pulling the little pieces of their life off the mirror. She carefully, but quickly, organised them into a pile, and pushed them into the front pocket of her bag. She looked at him with such sad, frightened eyes, that Clint wanted to cry for her. For them. “I thought, after I moved in with Mom and Dad,” she sighed, “I thought I’d never have to run again. Pack up my whole life in five minutes and run.” She laughed bitterly. “Guess not.”

He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that she was wrong, they were safe, and they’d never have to run and hide again…but he couldn’t lie to her. He’d thought it, too, that this being afraid wherever he was, was over. He’d thought it was over for good, that day standing in court, watching his brother be taken away. He’d thought it was over.

“We gotta go, Tash.” Clint said.

“Yeah.” She swallowed and shouldered her backpack, taking a long look around the apartment. Her eyes stopped on the chunky knit blanket on the back of their couch.

Clint followed her gaze. It had been one of the first things they had bought _together_. Properly. Mel and Phil had been reluctant for them to have a joint back account, being so young, but they had gone ahead and done it anyway. Stopped at a _Pottery Barn_ on the way home from the bank and picked out the throw, a weird mauve colour that neither of them really liked, but bought because it was on sale, and it was _theirs,_ to put on _their_ couch, in _their_ apartment.

“Bring it.” Clint said, and Nat grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, following him out of the front door, pausing to lock it.

She stopped with her key in the lock. “Is it even worth locking it.”

“Always.” Clint said. “He might not try to get in.” He tried to sound hopeful, but the words came out quiet and hesitant.

Natasha locked the door, and the two of them strode out of the apartment building and into the parking garage. Their car sat in its usual space, seldom used for any journey longer than about an hour. Clint packed the bags into the trunk and patted the roof. “You gonna do us good?” He asked the car.

Nat smiled sadly and climbed in.

He sighed. “You get us away from here.” He instructed the little silver _Toyota_. “Get us away from my brother.”

…

Lance Hunter was a simple man. All he needed to keep him happy was his beautiful wife, his loving little girl, and to be allowed to sleep past eight on a Sunday morning.

Two out of three would maybe have to do.

There was a thud. Then another. Then another. That’s what first woke him up. It was the incessant high-pitched laughter that followed each thud, which _really_ made sure he wasn’t going to get his Sunday morning lie-in.

“No.” He groaned, turning over and pressing his face into his pillow. “It’s too early.”

“You haven’t even opened your eyes, yet.” He heard Bobbi say. “How can you possibly tell?”

Lance huffed. “I just know.” He turned towards Bobbi’s voice and cracked open an eye. “Go on, then. Break it to me. How early is it?”

She was sat up in bed, knees pulled up and her tablet propped up on them. “Don’t worry, Teacup. It’s not so bad. They made it until seven-twenty. I think that’s pretty good for two little girls at a sleepover.” Bobbi reached over and ran her fingers through his hair.

Hunter hummed and shifted closer to her. “I’m glad they’re getting along.”

“Yeah.” Bobbi said. She looked away from the tablet. “Every kid needs some good friends.”

“Jem’s got us, though.” Lance said. He rested his chin on Bobbi’s hip and she touched his cheek. “She’s got us.”

“I know. But, it’s not the same as having friends. Especially friends closer to her own age.” Bobbi breathed out heavily though her nose and glanced towards the door. “I know she’s smart, but I don’t know how good it does her to be in a class with kids who are almost in middle school.”

Hunter frowned. Really, he hadn’t thought much about it. The age difference just hadn’t occurred to him as being a problem. Jemma was perfectly capable of doing the schoolwork of a kid in high school. “They’re only a couple of years older than her.” He said.

“Mm.” Bobbi hummed, looking thoughtful.

“Skye’s eight.” Lance said, sitting up. “She’s in a class with seven year olds, and Grant, he’s _ten_.”

Bobbi pressed her lips together briefly. “That’s different.” She said. “Skye’s only a year behind, and she would be one of the younger ones in third grade, anyway.”

“And Grant?” Hunter said, a little snappily, sensitive that Bobbi was suggesting that his little Jemma was not having the best of times at school.

“Grant’s mom is his teacher.” She said, lacing her fingers with his. “And anyway, from what I’ve heard from Pepper, she’s hoping to get him bumped up after Christmas.”

“Oh.” Hunter said. He squeezed her hand in what he hoped came across as an apology for being a little testy. Bobbi squeezed back. “That’ll be good for him.”

Bobbi nodded. “Pepper and Tony want him to be able to go to middle school with the kids his own age.” She turned to him. “But it’s not common knowledge.”

“Okay.”

“Seriously, Hunter, it’s a secret.” Bobbi pointed at him. “Grant knows, obviously, but Skye has no idea, so keep it zipped.”

He cuddled up close to his wife, mind still foggy with sleep. “I’ll keep the secret.” He said, kissing Bobbi’s shoulder. There was another round of laughter from down the hall. “Do we need to intervene or can we leave them alone for a little while?”

“We’re not having morning sex when there are two little girls down the hall.” She smirked.

“Don’t make it weird, Bob.”

She rolled her eyes. “Tell me honestly, that that is not what you were insinuating.”

Lance coughed. “I cannot do that.” He was about to open his mouth to make another snarky comment, but was cut off by a very distinctly ‘Skye’ squeal, followed by some little footsteps and giggles pass by their bedroom door. “Maybe we should investigate.”

“Probably.” Bobbi said.

Neither of them moved.

Bobbi tipped her head towards him. “Wanna hide in here and wait until they break in?” She asked.

Lance kissed her. “God, yes.”

…

Jemma and Skye made it until almost nine in the morning, before their desire for breakfast got the better of them and they agreed to go and bother Bobbi and Hunter. Skye had wanted to begin making their breakfast themselves, but Jemma had stopped her. Bobbi had certain rules about what she was allowed to do in the kitchen and Jemma didn’t want to break the rules.

As it happened, Bobbi, and Jemma’s dad were already awake when she and Skye, well, mostly Skye, broke into their room. Jemma had wanted to knock and wait, but apparently that was not on Skye’s agenda. Her dad went in the shower while Bobbi made them breakfast, and Jemma was pleased to note that whatever had been up with Skye the day before when she had been a little mean to Jemma, was now apparently completely gone and forgotten about. Skye seemed to be back to her usual, friendly, chatty self.

“Mom’s coming to pick you up in a little while, Skye.” Bobbi said, looking at her phone while she washed the dishes. “Make sure you don’t forget anything when you go.”

Skye scrunched up her face and swallowed her mouthful of toast. “I didn’t _bring_ anything, Bobbi. ‘Member?”

Bobbi turned to Skye with a smirk and flicked her with the water on her hands. The little girl squealed and Jemma giggled.

“I know you didn’t _bring_ anything.” Bobbi said. “But I know what you’re like. I don’t want to be finding underwear and socks in weird places in my house.”

Skye grinned. “How could I forget my _underwear_?” She laughed out loud and turned to Jemma. “That would be so funny!”

Jemma just smiled and nodded. She didn’t see the hysteria in the situation that Skye apparently did, but she was happy to join in with the merriment.

Bobbi finished up the dishes and Skye calmed down enough to finish her toast. She passed her plate to Bobbi and climbed back into her seat at the table, pulling it closer to Jemma’s and leaning over the table on her elbows.

“Hey, Jemma?” Skye asked.

“Yes, Skye?” Jemma took a sip of her juice and replaced it on the table a little further away from Skye’s elbows before any spills could occur.

Skye brushed some hair away from her eyes with a hand. She hadn’t bothered to brush it when they were getting dressed, and Jemma had to concentrate hard not to focus in on the obvious tangles in the ends of it that Skye seemed oblivious to.

“What game are you gonna play at recess, tomorrow?” Skye cocked her head to one side, waiting on Jemma’s answer.

The issue was, that Jemma didn’t really have one for her. “Game?” She asked a little dumbly, cheeks heating up at the feeling of confusion.

“Yeah.” Skye said. “I think I’m gonna see if Grant wants to play superheroes instead of spies.” She pouted for a second in thought. “Or maybe superhero-spies.”

Jemma could feel herself drawing a blank when it came to Skye’s game description. She and Skye played together often, but they played proper games, games with rules and strategy. They played board games, and games on the tablet computer. Sometimes Skye asked Jemma if she wanted to play with her dolls whenever Jemma visited her house, but quite honestly, Jemma couldn’t see the point, and so they had never engaged in imaginative games.

“Jemma?” Skye said when she was quiet for too long.

Jemma blinked. “Superhero-spies?” She said eventually, coming up with nothing else.

“Yeah.” Skye said. “I’m ‘Quake’. I’m a spy, but I have superpowers so I can make the earth shake.” She smacked both hands on the table, as if in demonstration, but the only thing she managed to do was make Jemma’s glass of juice move dangerously close to the edge of the table.

“I see.” Jemma put her hand around the glass.

“So?” Skye said. “What game will you play at recess?”

Jemma saw Bobbi watching her out of the corner of her eye, but didn’t look back. “I don’t really _play_ at recess.” Jemma said slowly, and Skye’s eyes widened in what appeared to be horror. It would have been funny, Jemma thought, if her dad hadn’t walked into the room at exactly that time wearing a similar expression. She looked over to him. “What?”

Her dad gaped at Jemma for half a second before looking over to Bobbi. They didn’t speak, but Jemma could tell they were having some sort of meaningful interaction. He moved further into the room and turned back to Jemma.

“What do you mean, you don’t ‘play’, sweetheart?” He asked.

Jemma shrugged, and glanced around at the three others in the room watching her. She tried not to squirm under what she hoped wasn’t their scrutiny, and bit her lip. “I suppose,” She said, “I just don’t see the point in _playing.”_ Jem answered honestly. “I don’t get it.”

“Right.” Her dad said quietly and Jemma thought she might have said something wrong.

“Well,” she said, hoping to backtrack, “I just mean, I’m a little old, aren’t I?” She looked at Bobbi, who was standing with her arms crossed over her chest. “The other’s in my class don’t play either.” That was at least, fairly true. “Some of the boys and a few girls play sports, I suppose, but they don’t _play_ play. And the rest of the girls, well,” Jem looked down at her hands, “they don’t play games so much as talk about boys and Facebook.”

“You’re _nine.”_ Lance said, still horrified.

Jemma looked up. “But the kids in my class are eleven.”

He scoffed. “Oh, well, then. That’s _perfectly_ reasonable.”

Skye spoke up. “That sounds like a boring recess.”

“Not really.” Jemma told them, honestly. “We’re allowed to take our books outside, and I like to do some extra work.” She smiled. “I sit at the bench by the fence. I like it there.”

“On your own?” Bobbi asked in an oddly toned voice.

Jemma nodded. “Yes. It’s nice on my own.”

Skye grimaced. “Sounds sucky, Jemma. I’d rather be a superhero.”

The sound of the front door opening saved Jemma from having to explain herself to her family. She listened until Melinda announced her presence, and walking into the kitchen, took the pressure off Jemma. She took another drink of juice for something to do and ignored the way her dad was looking at her like she had just fallen down the stairs and he was too far away for comfort her.

“Mommy!” Skye called, jumping out of her seat and flinging herself at Melinda. Skye was only little, much smaller than Jemma, and when she jumped up Melinda easily caught her in her arms. Despite Skye’s small stature, Jemma was still impressed.

She could barely see Melinda’s pregnancy bump under her heavy winter coat, but Jemma wondered if it was okay that Melinda was holding Skye when she was pregnant. She was about to ask, but then decided against it. It wasn’t nice to interrupt, and maybe Jemma would be wrong and it _was_ perfectly safe. If that was the case, then everyone in the kitchen would see Jemma being wrong and she certainly didn’t like the thought of that. Jemma would just have to look it up later.

Melinda held Skye close, kissing her cheek and rubbing her back. “Did you have a good time with Jemma?”

“Yeah.” Skye said, wrapping an arm around Melinda’s shoulders. “I lended Jemma’s pyjamas and now I’m wearing the same clothes as yesterday.” She grinned.

Melinda smirked. “Wonderful.” She said dryly, glancing at Bobbi, who just shrugged in response. “I know _someone_ who is taking a bath as soon as we go home.”

Skye giggled and Melinda kissed her again.

“I’ve got to put you down, honey.” Melinda said, grimacing a little and she placed Skye back on the ground. She smiled again as soon as Skye’s weight was out of her hands, but Skye frowned up at her.

“The baby’s hurting you, again?” She said, eyeing Melinda’s belly. She leaned against her mother’s side, but glared at the bump.

“The baby isn’t hurting her.” Jemma said, and Skye looked at her. “Not technically. It’s the just the bodily changes affecting the way Melinda needs to function.”

Melinda smiled at Jemma. “She’s right, Skye. It’s just my body’s way of telling me to take it easy.”

Skye nodded, but continued to eye Melinda’s bump with disdain.

“Come on, baby.” Melinda said, running her fingers gently through Skye’s hair. She caught a snag and frowned. “We’ve got to go run a brush through that nest.”

Skye smiled up at her mom, her dislike for the unborn baby, briefly forgotten. It made Jemma feel like she wanted to cuddle up to Bobbi.

“Say ’bye’ to Jemma.” Melinda said to Skye. “And ‘thank you’ to Bobbi and Hunter for having you.”

Skye hugged Jemma’s dad, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Thanks.” She said, and he hugged her back with one arm.

“No problem, kiddo.” He said. When Skye pulled away, he returned to watching Jemma with an odd expression.

Jemma didn’t have much time to dwell on it because Skye was hugging her, too, almost knocking her off her chair. She hugged back, patting Skye on the back.

“I’m glad you’re in my family, Jemma.” Skye whispered to her. She pulled away, and smiled. “Bye.”

“I’m glad, too, Skye.” Jem said quietly. “Thanks for coming over.”

Skye shuffled back. “Thanks for letting my borrow your Angelina. Maybe you can come stay at my house one night and you can borrow some of my toys.” Skye looked hopefully at her mother.

“Sounds like a plan.” Melinda said. “If Jemma would like that.”

“I’d like that very much.”

Melinda smiled kindly.

Skye crossed the room to say goodbye to Bobbi. She held up her arms, like a toddler would, until Bobbi lifted her off the ground. It was actions like that, which tended to confuse Jemma about Skye, because although she was eight, she could sometimes act like a bit of a baby. She didn’t mind, and it didn’t really _affect_ Jemma in any way, it just seemed a little odd. Or, Jemma thought, glancing at her dad, maybe it was she who was odd.

“And, Bobbi,” Skye’s voice caught Jemma’s attention and she looked back and her and Bobbi, “maybe when Nat comes home we can all play with your _Barbies._ Jemma can even have the first pick of the dollies.” Skye looked expectantly to Jemma, and Jemma just smiled.

“Maybe, Skye.” Bobbi said. She kissed her and put her down. “I love you. I’ll see you later. Bye, Mom.”

“Bye.” Skye said, being ushered out of the door by Melinda. “Bye, guys. See you tomorrow, Jemma!”

Jemma waved, and watched as Bobbi followed Melinda and Skye out of the kitchen, presumably to escort them to the front door. Her dad was still watching her, and Jemma focused on taking the hair tie out of her hair, and pointlessly redoing her ponytail. The sound of the front door closing was accompanied by Bobbi re-entering the room a few seconds later.

Bobbi eyed Lance, and stood beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He turned to her, smiled, and then looked back to Jemma.

“Everything okay, love?” He asked her.

Jemma tapped her fingernails on her glass. “You’ve been staring at me.” She said. “Like you’re worried.”

“I’m not worried.” He lied.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?” Jemma asked, feeling herself getting flustered.

“Like what?” He asked, wearing the exact expression of concern of his face.

“Like _that_.” She stressed. “Like I’m worrying you. What did I do?” Jemma shifted in her seat. “Did I say something wrong?”

Bobbi stepped forward and kneeled in front of her. “No, no, sweetheart.” She touched Jem’s hair. “Nothing like that.”

Jemma glanced at her dad and then looked back to Bobbi. She replayed their conversation from before Melinda had come for Skye. “Is it because I don’t play pretend like Skye?”

The two adults were quiet. Lance crouched down beside Bobbi, and really, Jemma wished they would just stand up because having them kneel down was making her feel like a five year old. She felt far too old to be addressed like that.

“It’s more…” Her dad trailed off, rubbing his chin. He hadn’t shaved yet and in the quiet kitchen, Jem could hear the sound of his fingers running over the short hairs. “I just, I’m just a little bit concerned about you not playing with the other kids.” He said slowly. “I don’t want you to get lonely.”

“Oh.” Jemma said in surprise. She had never really considered it being lonely before. At school, she was rather pleased when the kids in her class decided to ignore her all day, it was certainly better than the alternative of being the class punching bag, even if it was in the metaphorical sense. “I’m not lonely when I’m on my own.” She tried to explain. “I like it. It’s nice. I don’t want to play football or talk about boys and selfies,” Jem frowned at the foreignness of the colloquial word in her mouth, “so I like to do my own thing.”

Bobbi smiled. “But maybe, sometimes it would be nice to play with kids? Kids your own age?”

“The children my age play silly games.” Jemma said. She had seem them, running around trying to hit each other in endless games of ‘tag’, or hanging upside down off the monkey bars. “I don’t get it.”

“What don’t you get?” Lance asked. He smiled. “It’s fun.”

Jemma frowned. “Is it?”

Bobbi and her dad looked at each other. Bobbi shook her head a tiny amount, the action so small that all it really was, was a tilt of her chin. Lance’s eyes cast down and he sighed. He held his arms out to Jemma.

“Come here, love.” He beckoned her forward and Jemma obliged, sliding from her chair to hug him. He squeezed her tightly and nosed at her hair. “I love you. I love you, so much.”

“I love you, too.” She whispered. “And I’m not lonely.” Jem said, in an attempt to make him feel better. “I promise.”

“Yeah.” His voice sounded croaky but she didn’t comment. “You do you.” He said, pulling away, and holding Jem in front of him with a hand on each arm. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out before. You just be yourself. Play, don’t play, whatever. I love _you,_ Jemma. Be yourself.”

She really wasn’t sure what to say to that. He was speaking to her like she was suffering from an identity crisis, but really, Jemma hadn’t even considered her identity to be the issue, rather her actions, when it came to making friends. She nodded, to acknowledge the speech, but couldn’t find a way to internalise his words. ‘You do you’ and ‘be yourself’ sounded far too cliché in Jemma’s opinion, to really have any real world applications. Honestly, she thought, her DNA was already set in stone, who else could she possibly be?

“How about we all get dressed and maybe go do some Christmas shopping?” Bobbi asked in a soft voice, breaking any tension. “You still haven’t written your list, Jem, and it’s less than two weeks until the big day.”

Jemma shifted, leaning against her crouching father. She thought that his legs must be hurting from sitting that way for so long but he didn’t complain.

“I can’t think of anything that I really want.” She said honestly.

“Well maybe when we go out, you’ll get some inspiration.” Lance said, rubbing a hand on her arm. “If you don’t make a list, Santa won’t get you any presents.” He said it with mirth in his eyes and Jemma couldn’t help but grin.

“Santa’s not _real_.” She grinned, and he made an exaggerated face of shock.

“Jemma! How _can_ you say such a thing?” He tickled her sides. “Santa won’t bring you anything with an attitude like that.”

Bobbi laughed at their antics. She leaned over to kiss Jemma, then pecked her dad’s lips. “I’m going to get dressed.” She stretched when she stood and ran a hand though Lance’s hair as she left.

“Hey,” Jemma’s dad said quietly when he had stopped attacking her with tickles, “I love you.”

“I love you, Dad.” The word was natural. Jemma liked using it. “Dad?” She said.

He smiled. “Yeah?”

“Nothing.” Jem wrapped her arms around his neck. “Just,” she paused, “just, thank you for being my dad.”

…

They had to stop at the gym before they went home for Skye to get her bath and change of clothes. She didn’t mind, because going to the gym was one of Skye’s favourite things to do. Sometimes she was allowed to go in the pool, or play on the trampolines when they were going to be staying for any length of time, but even on days like this when it was only a flying visit for either her mommy or daddy to attend to some business, Skye liked going just to see who was there.

So far today she had seen Maria’s boyfriend, Steve, just on his way to an appointment with a guy he trained every Sunday. He had taken the time to run over to Skye and ruffle her hair in greeting. Skye really liked Steve, he reminded her of Captain America. She’d also been pleased to see the new kickboxing instructor, Sif, working on the reception desk. Sif was a new recruit to the gym, but Skye thought she was really cool. The woman was tall, like Bobbi, but with long dark hair like Skye, and an accent a little like Jemma and Hunter’s.

“I need to do a little paperwork.” Her mommy said as they climbed the stairs to the offices. “But it should only take ten minutes or so.”

“Okay.” Skye said. “And then we’ll go home?”

“Yes.” Mommy smiled, squeezing Skye’s hand. “We’ll go home and give you a bath. And then maybe we can spend some time together, just you, me and Daddy.”

Skye liked the sound of that. “Special time.” She said.

“Special Skye time.” Mommy opened the door for her to enter the hallway. “Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Hi, short-stuff.” Maria greeted Skye as they entered the offices in the upstairs of the building.

Skye let go of her Mommy’s hand to run over and hug Maria, pulling back quickly to look up at her. “Hi.”

Mommy followed down the hall more slowly, stopping to talk to one of the new spin teachers. Skye glanced over to make sure she was still there, and satisfied she wasn’t going anywhere, turned back to Maria.

“Did you go see Shannon yesterday?” Skye asked. “Did you tell her I said ‘hi’?”

Maria laughed. “Yes, and yes. She says ‘hi’ back.”

“Cool.” Skye leaned against the wall. She had been thrilled to learn that Maria had been going to St Agnes’ to visit Shannon, and even more excited when the woman had told her she was in the process of becoming a foster parent for the girl. Skye thought that Maria would make a great mommy. “When can she go live with you?” It was a question Skye asked almost every time she saw Maria, or Steve for that matter, given he, too, was to be fostering Shannon.

“Soon.” Maria said, the answer Skye expected. Maria crouched down closer to Skye and dropped her voice. “Between you and me, _really_ soon. As in, hopefully, next week.”

Skye beamed. “She won’t have to go back to St Agnes’. That’s awesome.”

“You think?”

Skye smiled. “She’s going to be so happy.”

“Yeah, well,” Maria said standing up, “she’s going to make me really happy, too.”

“Okay,” Mommy said, arriving behind them, “I’ve enlisted two personal trainers, two kick boxing instructors, a spin instructor, and your boyfriend to bring in the trees tomorrow morning before we open.” She put her hands on Skye’s shoulders, but looked at Maria. “Tell Steve he needs to be here at four tomorrow.”

“In the _morning_?” Skye asked.

“Yeah, that’s what time they’re bringing the Christmas trees.”

Skye grimaced. “That’s too early.”

Mommy laughed. “Not for the people I’m paying time and a half to do it.”

Maria grinned. “I’m making Steve wear a Christmas sweater to do it.” She folded her arms. “It came with a matching hat.”

The adults talked for a little while, moving into an office so that Mommy could sign the papers she had to sign while they talked. Skye sat on Mommy’s knee at her desk and drew Christmas pictures with the pack of highlighters she kept in the desk drawer. It was a little difficult to get the baubles right on her neon green Christmas tree because of the sloping angles of the pen nibs, but once finished, Skye was rather pleased with her creation. She added a yellow star to the top of the tree, just like the golden one they had on the tree in the house.

“I’m finished.” She announced, interrupting her mom and Maria’s conversation.

“Let’s see, then.” Maria said, and Skye held up the picture. “Wow. I’m impressed. I like the presents under it.”

“Yeah.” Skye said, setting the picture down again so her mommy could see it. “There’s one for everyone. Me, and Mommy, and Daddy,” she pointed to the corresponding presents, “that one’s for Bobbi, and that’s Hunters, and Jemma’s”, she had made sure for Jemma’s gift to be sat by Bobbi and Hunter’s, “and that one’s Clint’s because he likes purple but it had to make it blue ‘cause I didn’t have purple, and the green one is Tasha’s.”

“Do you think that’s what our tree will look like on Christmas morning?” Mommy asked.

“I hope so.” Skye said. She looked back down at her picture. “I tried really hard to be good, but Santa might have seen all the times I was bad and not bring me anything again.”

“Again?” Maria asked.

Skye leaned back against Mommy, Her belly touched Skye’s back and she relaxed against it. “I was bad last year so I didn’t get a present. The year before that I think I didn’t get something either.” She frowned. “I can’t really remember.”

Her mommy kissed her cheek and squeezed her a little tighter. “Well I’m sure he’s going to bring you some extra special presents this year to make up for it. You weren’t bad,” She said, “I think Santa might have just got a little lost those times.”

Skye nodded solemnly. “’Kay.”

Mommy kissed her again. “You’re a good girl, and I love you.”

“I love you, Mommy.”

…

Sif hadn’t been working at SHIELD gym for very long, only a few weeks, but she really like how it worked there. It was like a team effort. Despite the fact that there were many strands to the gym, and being a kickboxing instructor, she was a part of a little group of instructors who worked together, it never felt cliquey.

She hung out with the swim instructors and with the people who worked in the toddler crèche just as much as her own group, and that was honestly down to the way Phil Coulson and Melinda May had their company operate. It was a friendly, family atmosphere, and she loved it.

When Melinda and her youngest daughter, Skye, Sif remembered, walked into the gym, Sif was working on the reception desk. She had an hour before her first appointment for the day, and had been placed on the desk for the duration. It was a nice change of pace every once in a while to interact with incoming customers. She waved at Melinda and Skye and the woman waved back. Skye smiled at her.

It was Sunday, and being not too long before Christmas, and the fact that it was freezing outside, seemed to be having an impact on people’s want to get up early and go to the gym. It meant that Sif’s stint at the desk was a rather quiet one. Just as she was contemplating giving Thor a call to see if he wanted to do anything that night, a man entered through the automatic doors and walked up to the desk.

He smiled at Sif, and though the expression appeared friendly, it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She shook it off.

“Hello,” She said politely, “how can I help?”

“Yes.” The man smiled, leaning on the counter, “I was just wondering if either of the owners are in today. Phil Coulson and Melinda May?”

Sif blinked at him. It was an odd request. Usually while on the desk she just dealt with people booking personal trainers and directing patrons to the locker rooms.

“No.” She said. Despite the fact that she _knew_ Melinda was upstairs. The woman didn’t need to be bothered when she technically wasn’t supposed to be in work. “It’s their day off.”

“Oh, shame.” The man tapped the counter. Do they always have a Sunday off, or…?”

Sif frowned. The man was fishing, but for what exactly she couldn’t tell. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but can I ask who you are?”

“Ah, yes.” He smiled, a little manically. “Just a…well, let’s just say we have a shared interest.” The man took a sweeping look around the gym and then turned back to Sif. “Perhaps I’ll come back later. They’re probably preparing for Christmas, of course. They have a young daughter, don’t they?”

Sif didn’t comment.

“Christmas is all about the children.” He said. “Thank you for your help.”

She watched him turn and go, following him out into the parking lot with her eyes. He turned a corner, and Sif lost sight of him. The unease the man gave her was unnerving, and it took for another genuine customer to come in and enquire about swimming lessons, for Sif to really stop thinking about him. She managed to keep the man off her mind almost until the end of her desk stint, when she caught sight of Melinda and Skye leaving the gym. The feeling came back with full force and she made a mental note to mention the strange man to one of her bosses the next time she saw them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review and let me know what you thought. I hope you all have a great week, see you soon with the next update. :)


	3. We're Only Babies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I've had a weirdly horrible day. How's your's been?
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, and if you would like to leave a comment, then that would be much appreciated because I need a bit of cheering up.
> 
> Also, just a note to say that since posting the last chapter, I've had five different people tell me about other fanfics that were similar to mine and that they felt were directly plagiarising mine. Of the five DMs, three were about one story and two about another, although I've yet to read one of them because from what I've heard it's been taken down. Guys, while i really appreciate your concern (and I REALLY do), there is a difference between directly copying and taking a little bit of inspiration. Plus, sometimes you just need to take these fics with a grain of salt. Please don't go flaming these people and telling them you're going to tell me about them, because it's just unkind and unnecessary. That being said, if someone is DIRECTLY ripping me off, then, yeah, totally let me know and rip them a new one. Hhahaha.
> 
> Thanks for being so great, guys! I appreciate it.- Em xx

They’d pulled into a truck stop sometime around four am, mostly because Clint was seriously concerned he might pass out at the wheel, and Nat hadn’t stopped chewing her lips since they’d got into the car. Clint didn’t really trust her to drive when she was in such a state. Every time he asked her if she was okay, she smiled and tried to tell him not to worry, but it was hard to convince himself of her positive mental state when she had blood on her teeth and smudged mascara under her eyes.

The truck stop had a motel, but they slept in the car. Clint was only twenty and neither one of them had a credit card for a deposit on the room. He had tried to convince the receptionist on the front desk to give him a break, had explained that he only had another few months before he turned twenty-one, but she had remained firm and told him that he would have to find somewhere else to bang his girlfriend. Probably for the best. They didn’t have enough money, anyway. Clint had gone back to the car and tucked up Nat in the mauve throw and her winter coat.

He was pleased to note that Natasha had managed to sleep fairly soundly for a good few hours. Clint had found himself waking up every time a new vehicle pulled into the lot. He didn’t know what car Barney had, _if_ he had a car, and he ended up staring into the dark windows of each arriving vehicle to inspect the driver. The paranoia was getting to him.

Clint blew out a breath and ran a hand over his face. He shivered and pulled the collar of his coat up and over his nose. It was below freezing outside of the car, warmer that it had been at four am, but still aggressively cold. They couldn’t turn on the engine and use the heat. Apparently Barney was smart, smarter than Clint had ever given him credit for, having found his phone number, and both he and Nat were reluctant to really delve too far into their bank account, in the fear that he would somehow track them down. They were running on the cash they had, and the bills they had stuffed into coat pockets and the glove box, were running dangerously low. They couldn’t risk using too much gas by leaving the engine running when they still had no idea where they were going.

Nat shifted slightly in her sleep, and Clint reached over to touch her cheek with two fingers. Her skin was soft, but cold, and when Clint pressed the pads of his fingers to the tip of her nose, he frowned at the low temperature. She wrinkled her nose and blinked open her eyes. Clint pulled his hand away.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” Clint said quietly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Natasha moved her neck, stretching best she could in the small space. She squeezed her eyes closed, shook her head, and then opened them again. “Oh.” She said dejectedly.

“What?”

Natasha smiled at him, small and sad. “I thought it was maybe a bad dream.”

Clint put a hand on her knee. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They sat in the quiet. It wasn’t silent. It was after nine, and trucks and cars were coming and going constantly through the stop. Some guy in a truck was hanging out of his window, shouting friendly abuse at a friend going into the gas station. The other guy laughed and flipped him off. Clint swallowed hard.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asked him.

“No.” He said, because for a second Clint thought that he might cry. “I’m not okay, Nat.”

She took a stuttering breath and laced her fingers through his on her leg, squeezing. “I’m not okay, either.” She said.

The guy came back out of the gas station and climbed into the truck with his friend. Clint watched the two men. They were laughing. Maybe they were brothers. They drove away.

“Clint.” Nat said.

He looked at her. She was trying not to cry. Clint pressed his lips together.

“Clint, where are we going to go?” Her eyelashes were wet, and her lips were chapped and dry. She looked sick.

“You wanna go home.” It wasn’t a question and she didn’t bother denying it.

“When I’m scared,” she said, looking down at their hands, “I go to my parents. And, Clint,” Natasha looked up at him with haunted eyes, “I’m _terrified_.”

Clint nodded. “Barney, he knows where our family lives. He’ll look for us there, Nat.”

“Yes.” She said with a ferocity Clint didn’t except. “He’ll look for us there _regardless_ of if we’re there or not. I would rather I was there when he caught up with us to defend my family.” Natasha sat up straight in the passenger seat. “I want to kill that son of a bitch.”

“Me, too.” Clint said without missing a beat, because he did. Clint wanted Barney dead. It was a horrific thought, a horrible statement, and he _knew_ that, but it was a feeling he hadn’t been able to shake since Barney had been arrested and he had unapologetically laughed in his little brother’s face. “We’re better than that, though.”

“ _You_ might be.” Nat said, but she said it with mirth in her eyes and a smirk on her face. She smiled.

Clint kissed her. He kissed her hard and held the back of her head with his cold fingers. She kissed him back with just as much desire, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up with the press of her icy nose against his.

“I love you.” He whispered against her lips. He kissed her. “Natasha, Nat, I love you so much.”

“Don’t you _dare_ leave me.” She whispered fiercely. Natasha held him to her with fingers pressed into the back of his neck. “Don’t you _dare_ run away from me.”

“I never would.” He assured her.

She kissed him again. “But you did once.” Her voice was small and his chest clenched.

“That was a mistake.” He promised.

Clint closed his eyes.

They had been friends for almost a year when he had ran away that one time. He was sixteen and sick of being bullied by the brother who was supposed to be taking care of him, and he had kissed Natasha for the first time, told her he needed to go home, and instead had disappeared for fifty-six days. “Thank you for bringing me back.”

“You were my best friend.” Nat admitted. She touched his cheek. “I couldn’t let you go.”

“Thank you for saving me.”

“Never leave me, again.”

“I won’t.” Clint promised.

“Don’t leave me.” Natasha gasped. “Oh God, Clint. _Please,_ don’t leave me.”

She was getting hysterical and it was so unlike Natasha that all Clint could think to do was to pull her roughly into an embrace that crushed her against him. She sobbed into his coat and he let his own tears drip into her hair. He held her tightly.

“We’re gonna be okay, Nat. Promise, we’re gonna be okay.” Clint rocked her, kissing her hair. “My gorgeous girl, I’ll never let him near you again, Tasha. He’s not gonna touch you.”

“Clint.” She pressed her face into his neck.

“That fucker won’t ever touch you.”

They held each other for a long time. Clint thought that Nat might fall asleep again, but she didn’t. They went into the gas station to use the restrooms, and they spend six dollars on crappy junk food to keep them going and climbed back in the car. Clint went to take the driver’s side, but Nat insisted she do her share of the driving. He was exhausted. He didn’t argue.

“So,” Natasha turned to him, “where are we heading?”

Clint shook his head. “I have no idea.” He looked at the dark circles under Natasha’s eyes, and the flaking skin on her lips. “Home?”

“Home?” She sounded hopeful.

“Take us home, Natasha.”

She smiled, a true smile. “Okay.”

…

Melinda ushered Skye out of the car and into the house, all the while attempting to stop her little girl from jumping in the muddy puddles on their lawn that had appeared with the overnight rain. Skye danced on her tiptoes at the edge of the lawn, eyeing a particularly large puddle in the centre of the grass.

“Don’t even think about it.” Mel warned, tugging on the hood of Skye’s sweater.

Skye looked between her and the puddle. “But, but _Mommy-,_ ”

“Skye, if you jump in that you’re going to get filthy.”

“I’m going in the bath!” Skye said, and Melinda could hardly fight her on that.

She looked down at the excitable eight year old, still wearing yesterday’s clothes and with hair in desperate need of a brush. Kids, they were all the same, always wanting to be doing the stuff adults said was wrong. Really, Mel thought, what harm was there in letting the kid play in the mud? It was the things your parents let you do that you remembered as an adult, not the things they forbade you from doing. The best days never ended in you being clean, anyway.

Mel sighed, although it as mostly for show, for Skye’s benefit. “Fine.”

Skye’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Mel kissed her head. “Go play in the mud.”

“Yay!” Skye took off towards the puddle, running and jumping in it with such force that droplets of muddy water splattered Melinda’s jeans. She shook her head fondly.

“What’s going on, here?” Phil asked, standing at the open front door.

“Daddy, look!” Skye shouted, jumping from one puddle to another.

“Oh, wow.” Phil smiled, glancing over at Mel. “You’re going to be so dirty.”

Skye grinned, already a streak of mud on her cheek. “I know. Isn’t it great?”

He chuckled. “Sure is, sweetie.”

Melinda walked over to her husband and tucked herself into his side. He wrapped his arms around her, resting one on her belly. They watched as Skye ran across the wet grass, slipped, not unintentionally, and skidded through some mud. She looked up from her position on the ground and grinned sheepishly at her parents. Melinda rolled her eyes in a fond exasperation.

“Whoops?” Skye said, looking down at her filthy clothes.

Phil smiled. “Whoops, indeed.”

She giggled. “Mommy, I think I got mud in my underwear.”

Melinda laughed. “And on _that_ note, I think it’s time you got your butt in the bath.”

Skye got up, absolutely caked in mud, shivering all over, and with a grin from ear to ear. She ran over to Mel and Phil, stopping when Phil put his hands out.

“Whoa, little girl, you are _not_ coming into this house like that.” He said.

“Come here.” Mel guided Skye into the house, standing her on the rug and beginning to strip off her soiled clothing. “You should have good skin after this.” She muttered. “They say mud’s pretty good for your skin.”

Skye either didn’t hear her, or just didn’t care, because the little girl continued to shiver and giggle, looking down at the mud covering her little hands. She wiggled her dirty fingers at Phil and he pretended to be disgusted. Skye laughed.

Melinda was just about to relieve Skye of her jeans, when her cell phone ringing saved her from the filthy task. She pulled it from her pocket and glanced at the caller I.D.

“Hey,” she looked to Phil, “it’s Nat, will you…?” She gestured to her muddy little girl stood in front of her and he nodded, taking over the task.

Mel answered the call. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

“ _Mom_?” Nat asked, and Melinda froze at the sound of her voice.

“What’s the matter, Natasha?” She asked, walking quickly into the kitchen, keeping Skye in sight but out of earshot.

“ _Nothing_.” Natasha said in a more assuring voice. “ _I’m fine, Mom. We’re both fine.”_

“Okay.” Melinda was unconvinced, but she let it drop. “Then what’s up, Bubba?” She paused. Nat took a few slow breaths on the other end of the line. “Tell me, baby.”

“ _Clint and I are coming home.”_

“I would hope so.” Mel smiled. “It _is_ Christmas.”

“ _No, I mean,”_ Melinda could hear the smile in her daughter’s words, “ _we’re coming home_ today.”

Melinda felt herself grinning. “Oh, Nat, that’s wonderful. Do you need picked up from the airport?”

“ _Actually, Mom, we decided to drive_.”

“Drive?” Mel frowned. “Why?”

“ _Just, you know, we felt like it.”_ Natasha sighed heavily. “ _Mommy?”_

“What’s the matter?”

Natasha was quiet.

“Natasha. What’s the matter?” Mel asked, a little firmer.

“ _Everything’s okay, right? At home, everything’s fine?”_

Melinda glanced through the living room where Skye was leaning against Phil, trying and failing to remove her wet socks.

“What’s got you so worried?”

“ _Nothing, Mama. Don’t worry. We’ll be home by tonight. Late.”_

Melinda took a deep, soothing breath. She was worried, but she trusted Natasha, and she trusted Clint. “Promise me you’re both safe.”

“ _We’re okay.”_

It didn’t escape Melinda that that wasn’t a promise. “Drive safe.”

“ _Yeah.”_

“I love you.”

“ _I love you, too.”_

She was about to hang up, sensing Nat was done with their conversation, when Skye, still dirty but now only clad in her underwear, came running into the kitchen. She held out her hands for the phone.

“I wanna talk to Tasha! Let me talk to her!”

“Hey, Nat?”

“ _Mm?”_

“You got a moment to talk with your baby sister?”

Natasha laughed. It was a lovely sound. “ _Always._ ”

Melinda handed Skye the phone, making the effort not to wince at the amount of mud the little girl was transferring to the screen.

“Hi, Natasha.” Skye grinned.

Melinda couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but whatever Nat said made Skye happy enough to do a little dance.

“Guess what, Tasha?” Skye said. “I’m not wearing any clothes.” She paused. “They got muddy and now I gotta go in the bath, and guess what else, I had a sleepover with Jemma, and know what else? I went with Bobbi and we bought Christmas trees.”

Melinda smiled at her little girl. Skye had _really_ been missing Natasha recently, asking about when she was coming home almost every night. Skye loved Bobbi, Melinda _knew_ Skye loved Bobbi, but Bobbi was married with a little girl of her own, and that had been hard on Skye. Bobbi was a mother now, and even though that was terrifying to Melinda, it was confusing and weird to Skye, and Melinda was sure that was why the little girl had been craving the company of Natasha even more as of late.

“When you come home will you play with me and Jemma?” Skye asked. She smiled. “Okay. And Clint can play, too.” Skye’s face fell. “Do you have to go?” She pouted. “Okay. See you soon…yeah…I love you, too.”

Skye sighed and handed Melinda back the phone. “She had to go.”

“Yeah?” Mel took the cell and pulled Skye in for a hug, dirt and all. “She’s going to be home real soon, baby.”

“Yeah.” Skye reached her arms up to Mel. “I’m cold.”

Melinda lifted her off the ground, holding her best she could with a protruding belly. Carrying Skye for any length of time made her back ache, but she wouldn’t be able to do it at all for much longer so she was taking full advantage of holding her child in her arms.

“Let’s get you in the bath.” Mel said, kissing her cheek.

…

Skye actually had to take two baths. The first one was just to get the dirt off, leaving the water a nasty brown, the second was what Skye felt constituted a _proper_ bath, with nice smelling bubbles and all of her bath toys. She especially liked playing with the little plastic whales in different colours that squirted water out of their mouths.

“You are going to be in so much trouble if you squirt me with that.” Mommy said when Skye aimed the blue whale at her.

Skye giggled and instead squirted the water at the tiled walls.

“Hey, Skye?” Mommy said.

“Yeah?” Skye brushed wet hair behind her shoulder. Mommy had washed it but she had stopped any bubbles from going in Skye’s eyes by shielding her face with her hand.

“Can I ask you something?” Mommy said. She was ringing Skye’s washcloth out, putting it back into the water, and then ringing it out again.

Skye looked at her, leaning on the edge of the bath. “Ask away.”

“Skye,” Mommy smoothed the flannel down on the bath, “I was cleaning your room yesterday…”

Skye cringed. Mommy had told her on Friday to clean up her bedroom, and she had…sort of…she had pushed a lot of stuff into the bottom of her closet and she _knew_ that there was some toys under her bed that shouldn’t be there.

“I didn’t do a good job.” Skye said, eyes cast down. She moved the bubbles around with her hands. “M’sorry. I’ll do it better.”

“Well, the thing is, Skye,” Mommy said, “I found lots of things under your bed.”

Skye looked up at her.

“Lots of things that I don’t think should have been under there.”

“Like my toys?” Skye asked sheepishly.

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, Mommy?”

Mommy sighed and shifted to sit down on the bath mat. She frowned a little and put a hand on her belly. The t-shirt she was wearing was a little tight over her tummy and when she crossed her legs, Skye could see the smooth skin of her belly peeking out from underneath.

“Skye,” Mommy put a hand on hers, “why did I find school work hidden under your bed?”

Skye blinked. “Oh.” She hadn’t expected that. She had really thought that all the hidden schoolwork was just that, _hidden_. She had never wanted her mommy or daddy to find any of it. She felt her cheeks heat up and tried really hard not to cry. “You weren’t ‘posed to see it.”

“But why?” Mommy said in a voice that didn’t sound mad but sounded disappointed and that was way worse. “Why did you try and hide it from me?”

“’Cause m’not smart and I got bad marks.” She muttered, throat thick.

“That’s not true at all. You’re very smart, and some of those sheets had very good grades.”

Skye sniffled and looked up. “Only the ones that was easy. I’m dumb so Miss Potts gives me easy work and even some of the easy work is too hard.” She hiccupped. “I didn’t want you and Daddy to think I was stupid.”

“Oh, baby girl.” Mommy put a hand on her cheek. “I will never _ever_ think that you are stupid,” She kissed Skye, “or dumb,” and again. “You’re my little girl, and I love you, Skye. I don’t care what grades you get, or what schoolwork you do. I just care that you’re happy.”

“But,” Skye held Mommy’s hand to her cheek, “Jemma’s real smart.”

Mommy looked confused. She blinked a couple of times. “What in the world does Jemma have to do with this?”

Skye shrugged. “Jemma knows everything.”

“Not everything.”

“ _Everything._ ” Skye argued. “She does. And she’s smart, and she’s _so_ good at school and I’m…” Skye trailed off, “I’m not.”

“Skye. Look at me, Skye.”

Skye did.

“You’re eight years old, and so I’m hoping that I can make you believe this early, and that you’ll go on believing it for the rest of your life. Listen up.”

Skye listened to her carefully. Mommy sounded serious, and what she had to tell Skye seemed to be important.

“M’listening, Mommy.”

“Good.” Mommy smiled, and kissed her head. She pulled back enough to look Skye in the eye. “Don’t compare yourself to others. Just don’t do it. You are your own person, Skye. You’re you, and I love you. Daddy loves you. We all love Skye.” She kissed both of her cheeks. I love my Skye, no matter what. I love my Skye when she shares things with me instead of bottling things up.”

Skye bit her lip. “Bottling up?”

“Keeping worries and feelings inside.” Mommy explained. “I think you sometimes do that.”

“Maybe.”

Mommy put her hand in the bath and pulled out the yellow whale. She made it kiss Skye’s cheek. “I found your school journal.” She said suddenly. “I read it.”

Skye frowned. Her journal was private, even from Miss Potts. It was the one thing that they did in class that the teacher didn’t mark because it was _only_ for them. “You’re not ‘posed to read that, Mommy.”

“I didn’t realise it was private until I was already reading it.” Mommy looked sad. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have read it, Skye.”

“No.”

“Are you mad with me?” Mommy asked.

Skye shook her head. “No. Not really. M’just a little sad.”

“I’m sorry, Skye.”

“S’okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Mommy said. “I shouldn’t have read your private journal, but baby, I’m glad I did.”

Skye frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I read some things in there that made me a little upset.”

Skye wracked her brain. She had written a lot of stuff in her school journal. Lots and lots. Sometimes she wrote about her parents, and sometimes she wrote about her sisters and sometimes she wrote about the weather. She looked at Mommy and tried to work out what exactly she was referring to.

“Um…” Skye wrinkled her nose.

Mommy picked up Skye’s hairbrush and motioned for her to come closer to the bath’s edge. She began brushing Skye’s wet hair, slowly and gently, not even hurting when she reached the tangles.

“Skye?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really think Daddy and I will love the baby more than we love you?”

“Yes.” Skye said without a second thought. It made her chest feel tight, but she didn’t feel like crying. “It’s okay. I get it.”

“No.” Mommy put the brush down. “It is absolutely _not_ okay. Skye, no.”

“I don’t mind.” Skye said, and she really didn’t. It made perfect sense that they would love it more than her, and Skye, frankly, was just happy to have a family.

“But it’s not true, Skye.” Mommy was crying.

Skye didn’t like it when Mommy cried.

“Stop it.” Skye said in a small voice. “Don’t cry.”

Mommy wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Sorry. I just need you to understand that Daddy and I will love you forever. And we’ll love the baby, too. But we won’t love you any less.”

“Okay.” Skye said. She wanted Mommy to stop crying.

“Do you believe me?” Mommy asked.

Skye lied. “Yes.” She just wanted Mommy to be happy. “Mommy, don’t cry.”

“I love you.” Mommy said.

“Love you, too.”

Mommy got Skye a towel and held it open for her. Skye climbed out of the bath and into the warm towel. Without Skye even asking, her mom wrapped her up and lifted her into her arms. She held Skye close and kissed her. Skye let her head fall to her shoulder.

“I’ll love you no matter what your grades are.” She whispered. “Will you love me when I’m too fat to carry you?”

Skye pulled back, shocked. “Of _course_ , Mommy. I’ll love you forever. Even if you were as big as a bus.”

“Good.” Mommy carried her to her room. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

It didn’t take Skye long to get dressed, although she was overruled in wearing the green camo shorts when her mom pointed out that she was more likely to get frost bite that sun burn if she were to go outside. Skye instead settled for some leggings covered in a galaxy print to go with her zebra print hoodie she a chosen for the top of her outfit.

“I wish I was as cool as you.” Mommy said from where she was sitting on Skye’s bed. She had her back up against the head board and her legs stretched out on the covers. “I’m not sure I could pull off zebra-space.”

Skye looked down at her clothes. The zebra hoodie had purple strings and the legging had some purple in, too. “It goes, right?” She asked her mommy. “I’m matching?”

Mommy smirked and chuckled a little. “Yeah, it totally matches.” She said, and Skye smiled.

“Good.”

“Come here.” Mommy said, and beckoned Skye over to her bed. She opened her legs and patted the space between them. “Are you going to let me blow dry your hair?” She asked in a tone that suggested she knew the answer.

Skye grimaced as she climbed up onto the bed. She _hated_ getting her hair blow-dried. It just made her feel all hot and sticky, and honestly, the noise of the dryer wasn’t her favourite thing either. “I don’t wanna.” She whined.

“Fair enough.” Mommy said, running a hand through Skye’s wet hair. “But if you wont let me dry it, then you have to let me braid it, okay?”

“’Kay.” Skye settled herself in front of her mom, patiently allowing her to comb through her hair and section it off as she began to plait.

It was boring, and Skye had to try _really_ hard to stay still on the bed. Without moving her head too much, Skye only really had her wall to look at. Even the window was to her back. It wasn’t particularly interesting. She had some nice pictures on her other walls. Framed posters of cartoon butterflies and owls that matched the blue of her room, and even one smaller frame that contained a photograph of Skye with her sisters. She itched to look at it, but when she moved her head even just a little, Mommy made a little ‘tutting’ sound that indicated that she had the hair tie in her mouth and wasn’t done with her hair.

Instead, Skye closed her eyes and tried to recall the photograph from memory. It wasn’t hard, she saw the photograph every day when she woke up and when she went to bed. It was on the opposite wall to the one her bed was pushed up against, so that when she lay on her side, she could see it clearly. The image was one from one of the first few weeks Skye had been with her family. It depicted herself, without the broken arm, so it must have been very early on in her living there, and she was being held on Bobbi’s hip. Skye smiled a little as she pictured the memorised smile her sister had on her face and she looked at Skye. Nat, too was in the picture, arms wrapped around Skye and then Bobbi, laughing at something. The only one of the three, looking into the camera, was Skye. She could remember why, too. It had been her mommy who was taking the photo, and Skye had still been in that phase where she hadn’t wanted to take her eyes from her mother.

Skye opened her eyes, and blinked in the light. The blank wall stared back at her.

“I need something to put there.” She said absently to herself.

“Hmm?” Mommy answered. Skye could feel her tying the hair tie to the second braid in her hair.

“Just looks a little empty.” Skye said, nodding to the blank wall. She could feel Mommy let go of her hair, and Skye turned back to her.

“We’ll get you another picture to put there.” She smiled. “What would you like?”

Skye shrugged. “Just…something. Something nice.” She leaned back against Mommy. Her belly pushed into Skye’s back and she turned to the side a little to get more comfortable. Mommy’s arms went around her. “How long until the baby comes?”

Mommy ran her hand up and down her back. “Not for a while.”

“But _how_ long?”

“About five months.” She said. “Almost half a year.”

Skye’s eyes widened. “That’s for _ever_ away.”

Mommy smiled and nuzzled her cheek. “It’s going to creep up on us quicker than we think.”

Skye looked down at Mommy’s tummy. She was fat, but not like, _giant_ , and Skye was still not convinced that a whole baby could sit in there. It must have been really squished.

“Where’s it gonna sleep?” Skye asked suddenly. “Because it can share my room.” She offered. “But,” Skye frowned a little, “if it cries lots I might not want it to share my room.” She put her hand on her mom’s tummy. “I don’t really want it in my room.” She admitted, looking to her mother, who seemed to be trying not to laugh. “But I’m trying to be nice.”

Mommy shook her head. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Skye.” She said. “But the baby isn’t going to stay with you.”

“Good.” Skye said quickly, then on realising her admission, attempted to sound less happy about it. “I mean, oh, okay. If you’re sure.”

Mommy chuckled and kissed her head. “The baby’s going to have it’s own room.”

Skye blinked. They didn’t have any more rooms. “Where?”

“The spare room.”

“Huh?” She asked, confused. “We don’t got a spare room.”

“Bobbi’s old room.” Mommy said, as if it were obvious.

“Oh.” Skye said. She looked over at the photograph on the wall. Bobbi hadn’t had her own house, then. She and Hunter had lived with them. “But, it’s Bobbi’s.”

“Not anymore.” Mommy said. “She’s got her own house. She doesn’t need it.”

Skye huffed. “Did you ask her if the baby could have it?”

“I did.” Mommy sounded a little amused. “And she said it was fine.”

“Well, okay, then.” Skye said. She looked back at Mommy’s belly. The idea that the baby would be overtaking her big sister’s room didn’t sit too well. “It’s still Bobbi’s, though.” She said, more to the belly that to her mom. “For another almost half a year it’s still Bobbi’s.”

“I guess we can agree to those terms.” Mommy said.

Skye glared at the bump. “Mm.”

…

Phil watched as Skye ran from one end of the back yard to the other, just to get a run up on kicking the soccer ball. In the end, the long run up hindered the situation, because Skye tripped over her feet, clad in rain boots, and almost fell face first into the ball. Phil’s heart was in his mouth, but the little girl caught herself at the last second and the kicked the ball successfully into the ‘goal’ marked by two plant pots. It bounced off the fence and she cheered herself.

Phil clapped. “That was a good one.”

Skye turned to him, beaming. “I’m better in my sneakers.” She said, picking up her ball and jogging over to him. “But Mommy says it’s too muddy so I gotta wear my rain boots.” The little girl stuck out one foot and wiggled her boot at him.

“Better than wet feet.” Phil smiled.

She put her foot back down and squelched around in a particularly wet patch of grass. The silver glitter boots were more mud than glitter, but Phil didn’t have the heart to stop her. It wasn’t like Skye was going for formal dress at this point. It was a lazy Sunday, she was playing in the yard, and she was dressed in glittery rain boots, galaxy leggings and a zebra hoodie. She was eight and having fun. It was perfect.

The wind blew a little stronger and Phil frowned when his ears began stinging with the icy breeze. Skye seemed not to notice the cold, as kids tended not to, but her hair was still damp in her braids and she wasn’t even wearing a coat.

“How about we play inside, now?” Phil suggested, sticking his freezing fingers in his pockets.

Skye pouted. “No, Daddy.” She whined. “I wanna play soccer. We can’t play soccer in the house. Mommy says.”

Phil glanced behind him into the house where Melinda was making lunch. She certainly wouldn’t be happy if he approved indoor soccer…again. She was still mad about Clint breaking that lamp.

“We could play _Barbies_.” He suggested, instead, but Skye shook her head.

“You’re not good at Barbies.” Skye said apologetically. “You always make them go to the bank and the DMV.”

He folded his arms. “Those are valuable life skills I’m teaching you via the interaction with plastic women with unobtainable body types.”

“It’s boring, Daddy.”

Phil chuckled. “Right. Well, if you want to keep playing outside,” he said, compromising, “then you need to go put on your big coat, and your hat.”

She looked like she might argue, but then Skye nodded once, and dropped her ball onto the grass, running towards the back door.

“Take off your boots before you go inside!” Phil called after her.

“’Kay!”

Skye returned barely a minute later with one arm in her coat, her hat falling into her eyes, and pushing her rain boots onto her feet as she walked.

“I’m back.” She announced happily, arriving at his side.

Phil helped her into her coat and zipped up the jacket, crouching in front of her. “There.” He said, kissing her nose. “Isn’t being warmer much better?”

“Yeah.” Skye said. She stepped forward and wrapped both arms around his neck. “It’s cosy. Are you gonna play soccer with me, Daddy?”

The smile she gave him meant that Phil could never have said ‘no’. He hugged her tightly. “I would love to play with you.”

“Then you can be the goal person and I’ll be the kicking person.” She looked at him seriously. “You gotta try and catch the ball when I kick it at you.”

“Okay.” Phil answered seriously, trying not to smile. “I’m ready.”

Skye pointed him in the direction of the makeshift goal and let go of him to run to the other side of the yard. She placed the ball half way between them and took a run-up to kick it at him. Phil’s intention was to let her score, but the kid was actually better than he had intended and the soccer ball flew past his ear at an alarming speed and rebounded off the fence behind him.

“Wow.” Phil said, surprised. “Good kick, kiddo.”

Skye jumped up and down. “Throw it back, Dad!”

Phil did, and they continued their game. He began actually _trying_ to save Skye’s kicks, but even then the kid dominated him and the score ended up being somewhere in the region of twenty-two to thirteen.

“Daddy?” Skye asked, when the ball he’d thrown landed at her feet. She dribbled it into the centre of the yard and began trying to stand on top of it like a circus act.

“What’s up?” He asked, crossing the grass to her side to aid her in her task of standing on the ball. Phil let her hold onto his arms to balance.

“Mommy says the baby’s gonna have Bobbi’s room.” Skye kept her eyes on her feet, and Phil waited for the question. It never came, and when Skye fell off the ball, Phil caught her.

“Yeah.” He said, putting her on her feet firmly on the grass. “What do you think about that?”

She shrugged. “S’not the baby’s room. It’s Bobbi’s.”

He considered the little girl. She was picking at a stay thread on the sleeve of her coat, eyes cast down.

“Skye?” He prodded gently.

She looked up at him.

“Skye, the baby is going to need a place to sleep. Needs a room, and Bobbi doesn’t need hers anymore.”

“It’s _Bobbi’s,_ though. It’s got her name on the door.” Skye sat herself on the edge of the patio.

Phil sat down next to her. It was cold and too low to the ground to be comfortable, but he didn’t mind. Skye leaned into his side and Phil wrapped an arm around her.

“You know, Skye,” Phil began, “the baby, it doesn’t mean that your mom and I will love you any less.”

“I know.” She said quickly. Skye kicked her heels into the grass. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

She looked up at him, eyes wide and dark, hat slipping into them. “Will you love me no matter what?”

Phil balked. “Skye.” He breathed. “Sweetheart.” He pulled her closer, touching her cheek. She didn’t flinch at his cold hand on her rosy cheek. “I will love you, forever, with all of my heart, no matter what.”

“Yeah?” She seemed so unsure.

“Yes.” He said. “Yes. And so will Mommy, and Nat, and Bobbi.” He kissed her head. “We’ll love you forever.”

Skye smiled a little. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, but Phil was sure she was blushing. “Will you love me even if I do a bad thing?”

Phil cocked an eyebrow at her. “ _Did_ you do a bad thing?”

“No.” Skye said. “I’m just checking for when I do.”

He laughed and kissed her cheek. “Even when you do a bad thing, I will love you.”

“Good.” His little girl said. She cocked her head to one side, the hat slipping comically. Phil righted it for her and she grinned. “Daddy, I’ve got another question.”

“Okay…”

“The baby’s in Mommy’s belly?”

“Yeah.” Phil said, then paused, a little unsure to where she was going.

“But,” Skye said, a little frown on her face, “how is it going to get _out_?”

“Oh.” Phil felt himself pale. “Well-,”

“Guys, lunch is ready.” Mel said, peaking a head out of the door.

“Thank God.” Phil breathed. He stood up. “Come on, Skye.”

She followed, grabbing his hand. “But how does the baby get out of her tummy?”

Phil ignored her. “Skye, look.” He said, helping her off with her boots. “Sandwiches!”

“Daddy?” Skye said, shedding her coat. “How did the baby even get _in_ her tummy?”

Melinda snorted and Phil glared at her as he closed the back door.

“Mommy? How is the baby going to get out of your belly?” Skye asked her instead.

Much to Phil’s annoyance, Melinda didn’t look the slightest bit put out by the question, and simply waved Skye over to where her food sat. She kissed Skye’s head as the little girl sat down. “How do you think the baby gets out?”

Skye shoved a handful of chips into her mouth. She looked at Mel’s bump. “Maybe,” she swallowed the chips, “the baby comes out of your belly button.” She shook her head. “Nah. That’s stupid.” Skye grimaced and looked up to Mel. “Do, um, do you have to _poop_ out the baby?”

Phil muffled his laughter behind his own sandwich.

Melinda’s expression didn’t change. “You’re not too far off.”

“Gross.” Skye said.

“Yeah. Maybe we’ll explain it all properly when we’re not eating.” Mel smiled, and Skye looked grateful.

“Mommy, I don’t wanna be there when you poop out the baby.”

…

Nat had been driving for hours, but was insistent that she could continue all the way back. Clint let her. Driving seemed to distract her enough to keep any further breakdowns at bay.

Clint’s phone vibrated in his pocket for the third time in an hour. He checked the caller I.D.

“It’s him again.” Nat said, eyes remaining fixed on the road.

“Yeah.” Clint said. He swallowed hard. “I’m gonna turn it off. If anyone calls me, they’ll just call you, too, anyway.”

Nat nodded.

Clint switched off his cell phone.

“Not long now.” Natasha said. “We’ll be home soon, Clint.”

“Yeah.” He agreed. ‘Soon’ wasn’t quite how he’d put it, it would easily be another eight hours with traffic, and they’d have to stop a couple more times for gas and the bathroom, but they were closer. That meant something. “Home, soon.”

She took his hand and squeezed.

…

The thing about being Jemma’s dad, as oppose to her brother, was that Hunter had to really start thinking about the things he said and did around her. Not in an adult-kid way. He had spent enough time taking care of Jemma to get a handle on swearing around her and drinking too much, but just doing ‘dad’ things sometimes took a lot of effort.

Lance Hunter was a fantastic big brother, but he hadn’t had so much practice at being a dad.

He was getting there, though. Lance gave himself a mental pat on the back for being able to get Jemma bathed and into bed before eight on a Sunday night, especially given that Bobbi was usually the one on the ball when it came to bedtimes, but Bobbi was busy tonight. She had been called to the lab by Izzy to help clean up for some inspection that was happening in the morning. It was one of the first nights Hunter had needed to do the whole bedtime routine on his own.

“Okay.” He said, sitting on the edge of Jemma’s bed. “You’re clean, teeth brushed, you’ve had a drink, been to the loo, and you’ve got…” He paused to pull Jem’s blanket from under her duvet and tucked it around her. “You’ve got blanket.”

Jemma rubbed the edge under her nose. “Skye’s got a bear.” She said.

“I’m very familiar with Mr. Snow.” Hunter smiled. “Although we’re still not on first name terms.”

Jemma cocked her head at him.

“Mr. Snow is very cute.” He said. “Although you’re more of a blanket girl, eh?” He tickled her cheek with a corner of the blanket.

Jem batted him away good-naturedly. “I’m too big for blankets. I think I’ll stop using it soon.”

“You’re not too big.” Hunter lay down next to her. “You’re only nine, Jem, don’t be in such a hurry to grow up.” He brushed the soft baby hair away from her forehead. “Nine’s still a baby, Jem. You’re still my baby.”

She rolled her eyes. “Nine’s almost _ten,_ Dad. And ten’s almost a _teenager_.” Jemma smiled. “I’m getting grown up.”

He groaned and pushed his face into her pillow. “No. Not fair. That means I’m getting older, too.”

“Well,” Jemma muttered with a sly smile, “you _are_.”

Hunter gave her an offended look and Jem snorted, hiding her face. “I am not _old._ ”

“I never said you were old!” Jemma argued. “I just said you were getting old _er_. Which is entirely true.” She patted his arm. “It’s true of all of us. It’s scientifically impossible for us to stay in a state of no change.”

“Mm.” He hummed. “You must be right. You’re the clever one.” Hunter nudged her. “The future scientist.”

“Bobbi’s the current scientist.” She reminded him. “But she would agree with me, too.”

Hunter laughed. “Yeah, well, Bob and I both agree that you’re something special. Future scientist or not, you’re going to change the world some day, Jemma Simmons.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” He said, kissing her cheek, “I have faith in you.”

Jemma nodded. She cuddled up closer to him, tucking half of her blanket around his arm.

“Thanks.” Hunter smiled.

“In case you were cold.” Jem said. She yawned.

“Well, Jems,” He smirked, “looks as though you might be ready for bed.”

“I’m _in_ bed.”

“Ready for sleeps.” He clarified. “Sooner you get to sleep, the sooner you can get up and go to school.”

“That makes no sense.” Jemma said. “Whether I go to sleep now or in two hours from now, it will be the same amount of time until I have to wake up to go to school.”

He chuckled and kissed her head. “See, _clever_.” Lance pulled the duvet up a little more around Jemma’s shoulders. “So, school…” He trailed off.

Jemma looked away from him, eyes on her hands where she was fiddling with the blanket. “What about it?”

“Just, you know, wondering how it was going?” Hunter tried his best to sound casual, but the discussion in the morning had thrown him a little, and his vision of Jemma having fun in school had been altered with her description of what it was like.

“I already told you I’m not lonely.” She said, huffing a little. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m not.” He tried to convince her. “I’m just genuinely interested in how school is. I mean, is it fun? How the work been going? And your teacher?”

“Everything’s fine, Lance.” Jemma snapped. He chose not to let the little sting he felt at being called ‘Lance’ be known. Jemma sighed. “Sorry. It’s fine. Really.”

“Okay.” He said.

Hunter brushed a hand over her blanket. The thing was so old that sometimes it seemed to be more holes than blanket to him, but Jemma loved it. She had had it from being a new-born, and Lance didn’t even know where it had come from. She had come home from the hospital wrapped in the thing, small pink, and gorgeous. He could remember that day clearly, the day his mum and stepdad had brought Jemma home from the hospital. They had lived in a house with three bedrooms, but his stepdad had still complained there wasn’t enough room for another kid. She had been six pounds when she was born, and he had _still_ complained that there wasn’t enough room.

Jemma had been tiny, Hunter remembered. His stepdad had driven his mum and Jem home, but had made himself scarce practically from the moment they stepped through the front door. He had buggered off to the local to ‘wet the baby’s head’ and had returned at three in the morning absolutely paralytic and had thankfully passed out on the sofa. The man had slept through most of the next day, and Lance hadn’t been able to go to school because his mum had put the baby in bed with him sometime in the early hours and hadn’t come back home until his stepdad had gone back out in the evening. She had left bottles and powdered milk, but Lance had been sixteen, and _Google_ wasn’t so easy to come by when they didn’t have a computer so he’d had to feed a screaming baby Jemma cold formula he’d made by following the pictured instructions on the box. He hadn’t realised he should have been heating it up. He knew better for the next time.

“Dad?” Jemma said quietly.

Hunter blinked, rubbing his eyes, and with the action, pushing away the memory. “Yeah, kid?”

She pressed her nose against his arm and rubbed the blanket between her fingers. “You know Mum and Dad?” She said. “My other mum and dad?”

“Yeah?”

“They’re not my parents anymore, are they?” She sounded hopeful, and Lance pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her.

“No.” He said firmly. Jemma’s face changed to an expression Hunter couldn’t identify and he worried he had upset her. “I mean, not legally, no, but if...well, if you ever wanted to see them-,”

“No.” She cut him off quickly. “No. I don’t want to see them.”

“Okay.”

Jemma shook her head. “Never again. Please never again.”

Hunter kissed her. “Alright, darlin’, okay. Never again.”

…

“But it’s only nine!” Skye protested, even though she knew full well it was already an hour after her usual bedtime.

“Bedtime.” Mommy said. “Upstairs, now, please.”

Skye pouted, but did as she was told, climbing the stairs and dragging her feet on every step. She had been begging since Natasha had called, for Mommy and Daddy to let her stay up until they came home, but apparently it was going to be late by the time they arrived and Skye needed to be in bed. Mommy said she needed her sleep so she could concentrate at school tomorrow. Skye just wanted to see Natasha.

Mommy followed her upstairs, supervising while Skye brushed her teeth and put on her pyjamas at a snail’s pace. She didn’t say anything to speed up the process, but the little half smirk she was giving Skye told the little girl that her mother was completely aware of what she was doing.

“Get into bed, Skye.” Mommy said, holding up her duvet. “Come on.”

Skye climbed in and shuffled over so Mommy could lie down next to her.

“Five minutes.” Mommy said, climbing onto the bed. “Then I’m going downstairs and you’re going to sleep.”

“’Kay.” Skye said, cuddling up close. Mr. Snow was in her arms, but his furry body was preventing Skye from getting as close to her mommy as she wanted, and so the bear was placed above Skye’s head on the pillow to keep watch. “What should we talk about?” Skye asked, initiating their nightly ritual of some pre-sleep chat.

Mommy shrugged. “What would you like to talk about?”

Skye considered it. She thought about bringing up Nat and Clint, and talking about them to delay her inevitable bedtime, but she thought that might seem to obvious. “How about the Christmas trees?” She suggested.

“Christmas trees?” Mommy questioned.

“Yeah.” Skye said, turning onto her side. “The ones for the gym.”

Mommy nodded.

“I wanna see ‘em.” She said. “When they’ve got their lights on and they’re all pretty.”

“Well,” Mommy stroked a hand on Skye’s still braided hair, “they’re coming early tomorrow, when you’re still asleep, and I’ve got some of the guys down at the gym to help get them set up.”

“Are they gonna make ‘em pretty?”

“I’ve got Steve going down there to help, and he’s quite artistic. I’m sure they’ll look great.”

Skye smiled. She knew Steve was good at art, because Skye had seen the drawings that Maria had on her desk that he had given to her. They were really very impressive. Not as good as Bobbi’s, but still very good. And anyways, no one would ever be as good as Bobbi at drawing, Skye was sure.

“I’ll be going down there about eight.” Mommy said. “I’ll make sure they’ve made the trees pretty enough, and then maybe you can come after school to see them.”

Skye perked up. “Really?”

“Sure.” Mommy smiled. “You’ve got an appointment with Andrew, remember-,”

“At six.” Skye finished. She hadn’t forgotten.

“But,” Mommy continued, “I can pick you up from school, you can come and see the trees, and then we’ll come home and have dinner with your Dad and hopefully Nat and Clint. _Then_ you can go to see Andrew.”

Skye nodded. That sounded like a pretty good plan. During her first few sessions with Andrew Garner, Skye had been reluctant to be there. She had complained before, during, and after each session to anyone who would listen, and refused to cooperate in the way Andrew wanted her to. She had been through it all before, or so she had thought, until Mommy had convinced her to give the doctor a chance and Skye had allowed him in.

It had been good after that. Doctor Garner wasn’t like the other feelings doctor she had been to. For one, he always said she could call him ‘Andrew’, which was nice, but another thing Skye liked about him was that he didn’t ask her stupid questions. He never asked her ‘if your feelings were a colour, what colour would they be?’ or ‘can you draw your feelings, for me?’. Skye appreciated that.

Andrew talked to her about normal things. He asked her about what she did at school, what games she played, who she talked to, and what she talked about. He let her play with the _Lego_ in his office, and they talked about her mommy and daddy, and her sisters. Sometimes they talked about Jemma. Skye was excited to tell him about her sleepover, and about how Jemma was her best friend, now. Maybe they would talk about Christmas, too. Andrew had said weeks ago that Skye could make Christmas cards and decorations in his office with the glitter he had, and since Christmas was so soon, maybe that would happen tomorrow.

“Mommy, how long is it until Christmas?” Skye asked.

“Can you work it out?” Mommy asked. “Count the days.”

“I can’t.” Skye whined, a yawn hitting the end of her words. “S’too hard.”

Mommy took both of her hands. “I think you can do it. Let’s try.” She held Skye’s fists. “What is the date today?”

Skye closed her eyes and tired to think about it, but the date was only on the board at school, and she hadn’t been to school today. “I don’t know.”

“It’s the sixteenth.” Mommy said gently. “And on what date is Christmas?”

“The twenty-fifth!” Skye answered brightly. That one she knew.

Mommy nodded. “Right. So we need to work out how many days between the sixteenth and the twenty-fifth. So we start with _sixteenth_ ,” she said, urging Skye to join.

“Seventeenth?” Skye added as Mommy opened her thumb from her fist. “Eighteenth,” Mommy opened her pointer finger, “nineteenth, twentieth, twenty-first, twenty-second,” Skye continued to count and took over the adding of her fingers, “twenty-third, twenty-fourth-, twenty- _fifth._ ” She held out her outstretched fingers in victory.

“So that’s how many days.” Mommy said. “Count them up.”

Skye did, and happily turned to her mom. “Nine? Nine days till Christmas!” She laughed with glee, a sudden excitement over taking her.

“Yes.” Mommy smiled, and kissed Skye’s cheek. “And when you wake up tomorrow, it will only be eight days.” She climbed out of bed. “So get to sleep, baby.”

It wasn’t worth trying to argue with Mommy anymore, Skye knew. So she just held out her arms for a final hug and kiss. Mommy leaned over and cuddled her.

“I love you, Skye.” She said, and gave Skye a kiss. “Sweet dreams.” She handed Skye Mr. Snow from her pillow and she pulled him under the sheets with her.

“Love you, Mommy.” Skye said. “I’ll try and have sweet dreams.”

Mommy smiled and gave her another kiss. “See you in the morning.” She made a move to walk away but Skye pulled her back. “What’s up?”

“I need to say goodnight to the baby.” Skye informed her.

Mommy smiled and nodded, stepping forward so Skye could reach her belly.

She placed the hand not holding her bear onto Mommy’s bump and pushed her nose against it. “Night, baby.” Skye said. Sometimes she liked the baby, and sometimes she didn’t. Tonight she felt quite fond of the little tiny thing inside of there. “I hope you have sweet dreams, too, baby. Night.” She pressed a kiss to the belly and patted it. “’Kay, I’m done.” Skye said, and lay down.

“Night, night, baby girl.” Mommy said.

Skye liked being the baby.

…

Skye didn’t wake up to her Mommy shaking her awake gently like she usually did in the mornings, but instead found she was awoken by a foreign body in her bed in the middle of the night. The little girl rubbed her eyes and tried to identify the other human curled around her in bed.

Some red hair tickled her nose and Skye blinked.

“Natasha?”

Nat smiled back at her in the dark of her room. The lamp her Mommy always left on when she put Skye to bed allowed her to see Nat’s face, but the way she was lying meant that half was cloaked in a shadow.

“Hey, baby sister.” Natasha whispered. “It’s really late so keep you voice down. I promised Mom I wouldn’t wake you.”

“I’m glad you did.” Skye grinned. She wormed her way into Natasha’s arms, cuddling close and revelling in the familiar scent of her big sister. “I wanted to wait for you, but Mommy said I needed to go to sleep.”

“Mommy was right.” Tasha said. “It’s so late, that’s its early in the morning. But I missed you, and I just wanted to see you were okay.”

“I’m okay.” Skye clarified. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Natasha opened her mouth, but shut it again and shook her head. “No reason.” She smiled. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you _so_ much.” Skye told Natasha. “I don’t want you to leave me ever again.”

Tasha chuckled. “I’m glad I’m being missed. Glad you haven’t replaced me with your new B.F.F.”

Skye frowned. “Who? Jemma?”

Nat nodded.

“No.” Skye said, horrified. “Tasha, I’d _never_ replace you.”

“It’s alright, malyutka.” Tasha smiled. “I was just teasing.”

“You’re not being replaced.” Skye said for good measure. Natasha wasn’t wearing pyjamas, but was still wearing her clothes. Skye held onto the edge of Nat’s shirt. “M’tired.”

Nat kissed her head. “Go back to sleep, little girl.” She said quietly.

Skye felt a little delirious, like she might be dreaming. She closed her eyes without meaning to. “Bobbi’s got Jem.” She said.

“Huh?”

“Bobbi’s got Jemma, and Mommy’s got a baby.” Skye mumbled. She forced her exhausted eyes back open. “Tasha, you’re not having a baby and replacing me, are you?”

Nat frowned. “No. No baby for me. But no one is replacing you, Skye-,”

“Good.” Skye said, cutting her off. “I’m glad you’re not having a baby.”

Natasha said something else, but Skye’s eyes were already closed and she was too far-gone into her slumber to hear what she said. But in the early hours, when Nat had vacated her bed, and when the guys at the gym were decorating Christmas trees, Skye dreamed of babies that locked her out of her room, and of sisters that couldn’t remember her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment to make me feel better. Also, some of you tweet me your favourite parts and I adore it when you do that, so thank you and please do tweet me!
> 
>  
> 
> Ooh! And while I'm requesting stuff, give me fic recs. I need more reading. I'm talking anything you think I'll be into, plus if anyone knows any good Clintasha origin stories I'd be well into that. :D


	4. We're in Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG URG SORRY SORRY SORRY
> 
> Moving on....thank you for sticking with me and enjoying my fics, you have no idea how much I appreciate it. I love getting your messages on twitter, instagram, and tumblr. They honestly do make my day, especially when you guys like to run headcannons by me. I LOVE it!
> 
> Btw, do you speak FRENCH? Do you fancy giving the translated chapters of my fics a last read through before they're published? If so, contact Meggie on her ff.net ([right here](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4016575/)). It would be a great help to us both!
> 
> Please enjoy this chapter. It's a particularly long one with a lot going on. Oh, and if you recognise a couple of newbies making their way in there, well, just let me know what you think. Thank you once again, my lovelies, and enjoy.

“No, the tinsel needs to be spread out over the _whole_ tree!” Steve sighed and waved a hand in the direction of the Christmas tree that the new kickboxing instructor, Sif, was attempting to decorate. “Don’t bunch it all up at the bottom, or it’ll look uneven.”

Steve would have been a little worried that his outburst of instruction had offended Sif, but the women smirked and rolled her eyes at him, moving to alter the position of the tinsel and putting him at ease.

“Sorry.” She smiled. “I suppose I am not quite so artistically inclined as yourself, Steven.”

Steve chuckled and pulled on the neck of the elf sweated Maria had forced him to wear. He had drawn the line at the hat. “I think it’s maybe not artistic talent motivating me, more than it is my OCD.” He admitted.

Sif finished adjusting the tinsel and stepped back from the tree. “You have OCD?”

He shrugged. “No. Well, Maria says I do, but it’s not OCD just…” Steve trailed off, eyes catching sight of two red hanging baubles next to each other.

“Anal retentiveness?” Sif suggested, watching as he moved the decorations around.

He blushed and scratched the back of his head. “There’s nothing wrong with taking pride in your surroundings.”

It was still very early, the sun having not even begun to make its appearance. Steve watched as Sif took a swig from the disposable cup she had brought with her that morning. Steve could smell the strong coffee from where he was standing across from her. It reminded him of the tar Maria liked to drink.

Sif was watching him, cup in hand, paused by her chin. She cocked her head to once side.

Steve shifted a little uncomfortably. “What?” he asked.

She cleared her throat and gestured to him with the cup. “Marines?”

Steve blinked at her, surprised. “Sorry?”

Sif crossed her arms. “It’s just a guess.” She shrugged. “The way you stand, the way you hold yourself, it just screams ‘armed forces’. I am simply trying to make an educated guess as to which strand you took.”

“Oh.” Steve said dumbly.

“So? Marines?”

“Um.” Steve blinked again. “Um, no, actually.” He rolled his shoulders and made the conscious effort to relax his stance, putting her hands in his pockets. “I joined the army out of high school.” He admitted.

“Ah.” Sif smiled. “You are certainly a military man. That I can tell. So, Steven, how should I be really addressing you?” She smirked at him. “Sergeant Rogers? Captain Rogers? _General_?”

Steve laughed. “Not quite.”

“Oh, shame.” Sif said with a chuckle. “You look like a ‘Captain Rogers’.”

“Mm, well, I hate to break it to you, but most I got was Private.” He paused. “First class.”

“Still impressive.”

“I was pretty close to ‘Specialist’, but then…” He sighed, and rubbed at his side.

“Then?” Sif prompted, leaning against the wall by the tree. The lights from the tree illuminated the side of her face in the otherwise dark and gloomy gym foyer. Somehow further in the building Steve could hear a round of laughter from some of the other guys who had been recruited to help put up all the decorations.

“I got shot.” He told Sif.

She brushed dark hair behind her ear, but her expression didn’t change. He’d honestly expected pity, horror, at least some form of shock or sympathy, because that was the usual reaction he got from that revelation, but instead she just looked back to him unwaveringly.

“Well that is unfortunate.” She said.

“Yeah.” Steve replied. “It sucked.”

Sif swallowed down the last of her coffee and wandered over to the reception desk, depositing her empty cup in the trash behind the counter. She hoisted herself up onto the edge of the desk, and Steve found himself having to crane his neck ever so slightly to see her face properly. She really was quite tall.

“I cannot say that I ever wish to be shot,” she said, eying the side of his torso poignantly enough that Steve knew she was suspecting his own actions were indicative of the army injury, “but, for you, Steven, I suspect it was to be a blessing is disguise.”

He frowned. Being shot had been horrendous; it had ended his career, his dreams of being in the army, for fighting for his country. It was the worst thing to ever happen to him. “I almost _died_.” He snapped at Sif. “I lost everything. I came home to nothing. Do you know what it’s like to have PTSD? _How_ could that have been a blessing?”

Again, Sif’s expression failed to alter in Steve’s emotional outburst. “I am not a fortune teller, Steven.” Sif said, sliding off the desk. “But I do believe that if you had not had that experience, no matter how traumatic it may have been, you would not have the life you currently lead.”

He wanted to argue on principal. It felt like Sif was downgrading the severity of Steve’s worst moments in his life. He half expected her to tell him that his mother dying was also a ‘blessing’, but he couldn’t find it in himself to disagree with her. Steve watched as Sif meandered back over to the Christmas tree, barely having to reach up to gently straighten the star on the top.

“I probably wouldn’t be working here.” Steve said quietly. He had got the job because Phil Coulson had heard about his traumatic end to his time in the army from one of the guys in Steve’s PTSD support group. Sam had been a regular at the gym, had mentioned Steve, and Phil had called him in for an interview. It wasn’t the army. It wasn’t his dream as a kid, but Steve loved working at SHIELD gym. He had friends, hell, he had a family. “I wouldn’t have met Maria.”

“Probably not.” Sif agreed, eyes still on the tree.

“And I wouldn’t have met Shannon.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Who?”

Steve blushed. “Um, well,” he stuttered, “it’s a secret, sort of, not really, but it’s not like, _public_ knowledge.”

Sif cocked an amused eyebrow at him. “Okay?”

“But, uh, Maria and I are fostering a little girl.” He couldn’t help but smile. “Technically it’s all kind of Maria, but I live with her so obviously I’m fostering her, too, and uh, yeah.”

“You will be making that little girl’s Christmas very special.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s blush made reappearance. “We already got her some presents. Wrapped them last night.”

“You are sickeningly virtuous, Steven.” Sif said with a teasing smile. “How did you get shot? Protecting the flag?”

He laughed. It felt good to laugh about it. Steve honestly couldn’t remember the last time _anyone_ had joked about him being shot, probably because it sounded risky and in bad taste, especially when the soldier they were joking about had suffered greatly in the first few months with posttraumatic stress disorder. But Sif didn’t seem all that wary around him. It was refreshing. Even Maria, who joked about her time in the marines, tended to stay away from jokes about Steve and the army.

“I wasn’t protecting the flag.” He smiled.

“Shocking.” Sif said.

“My friend,” Steve said wistfully, “he was hurt.” He swallowed. “IED. It was bad. They started shooting, I covered him.”

She nodded. “See,” Sif said, with a sad smile, “sickeningly virtuous.”

“Yeah.”

“Did he live? Your friend?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Lost an arm.” He coughed to cover the crack in his voice.

Sif nodded. “But he’s okay?”

“He’s alive.”

“Steve!” A shout came from the direction of the weights room. “Yo! Steve-o!” Scott Lang jogged out

“Did you just say ‘yo’?” Steve smiled, grateful for the distraction. “How embarrassing for you, Scott.”

Scott gave him the finger and Sif snorted.

Steve gave Scott a quick once over, smiling at the glitter catching the light in his hair. “Having any success with decorating?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah, it’s damn beautiful.” He glanced over to Sif’s tree. “Okay, so it’s shitty compared to her tree, but it’s got lights on it so, yeah.”

Sif shook her head. “Steven will not approve of shoddy tree decorating.” She smirked. “He’s anal retentive.”

Scott sighed. “My tree sucks, Rogers.” He admitted. “It’s seven am. Give me a break.”

Steve took pity on his friend. Also, he couldn’t stand the thought of a messy tree. “I’ll come and help.” He said, and Scott saluted him.

“You’re a great man, Rogers.” Scott said.

“Sickeningly virtuous.” Sif interjected with a grin.

Steve rolled his eyes. “See you later, Sif. We open in a half hour. Maybe you should go get ready.”

She nodded and walked off towards the staff locker room. “I do hope you have evenly distributed your tinsel, Scott. Or Steven will be less than impressed.”

Steve glared at her playfully, as she retreated into the locker room, giving both men a wave.

“She’s hot.” Scott said, and Steve thumped his shoulder. “I mean,” Scott rubbed his arm, “she’s a very strong a beautiful women.”

Steve smirked, shaking his head. “You should ask her out.”

Scott shook his head. “Nah. Sif’s way taller than me.”

“That doesn’t matter.” He said. “That doesn’t stop you from asking her on a date.”

“Well, no.” Scott agreed. “But the fact that she’s a lesbian might throw a spanner into the works.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Scott said.

The two men were quiet for a moment. Steve watched Scott, and Scott watched the closed door to the locker rooms. He sighed.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“My tree is awful.”

Steve gave him a comforting pat on the back. “Yeah, Scott. I guessed.”

…

“Hey, come on.” A gentle voice said. “Skye, honey, time to wake up.” Mommy said.

Skye groaned and turned her head, pressing her face into her pillow. “No.” She whined. “M’sleep.”

She heard Mommy chuckle. “Hunter’s coming to pick you up with Jemma in less than an hour.” She rubbed a hand up Skye’s back. “Time to get up.”

There was nothing in this world that Skye wanted more than to remain in bed, snuggled up with Mr. Snow, and maybe Mommy, too, if she wanted. She certainly didn’t want to get up and go to school.

Skye groaned again for good measure. “I’m too tired for school.”

“That’s not an excuse, Miss ‘let me stay up late’.” Mommy said.

She tickled Skye’s sides until the little girl had no option but to climb out of the warm covers. Skye giggled and crawled to the bottom of her bed.

“Okay, okay.” She batted away Mommy’s hands. “I’m awake now.”

Mommy kissed her cheeks. “Well thank goodness for that. I was getting worried that I might have to dump a jug of icy water on you.”

Skye blinked at her. “You wouldn’t.”

Mommy leant close to her. “How do you think I used to get Clint and Nat to wake up for school?” She whispered.

“I’m up! I’m up!” Skye said, jumping out of bed. “I don’t need the water. I’m awake, Mommy.”

“Good, but you need to get ready for school, Skye.” Mommy sat down on her bed, and began to rub her belly. “I need to go to work soon, but Daddy’s working from home today, so he’ll get you breakfast.”

“What about Natasha? And Clint?” Skye asked. She climbed off her bed and began rummaging through her drawers for some clothes to wear. She pulled out some purple shorts.

“It’s freezing, Skye. No shorts.”

Skye pouted but replaced the shorts.

“And Nat and Clint got in pretty late last night. They’re still asleep.” Mommy said.

“Oh.” Skye sighed a little. She didn’t want to wake Natasha and Clint if they were tired, but the thought of going to school _all day_ without seeing her big sister wasn’t appealing. “Maybe I could stay home, today.” She suggested. “And then I can wait for them to wake up.”

Mommy chuckled. “How about ‘no’?”

Skye huffed, but pulled out a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt to wear, anyway. She hadn’t expected Mommy to agree to her staying home, but it had been worth a shot. Mommy didn’t say anything about Skye’s picked out clothes, so she assumed that meant they were good.

“Hunter’s going to take you to school.” Mommy said as Skye pulled on her shirt. “But I’ll be there to pick you up.”

“Are you picking up Jemma, too?”

“Yes, but we’ll be dropping her straight off at home, and then we’ll go see the Christmas trees at the gym.” Mommy said. She waved Skye back over to the bed once she was in her jeans. “And you and I can hang out together.”

Skye climbed into her mom’s lap. The baby was kind of in the way but she was getting better at cuddling Mommy _around_ the rapidly growing baby bump. Mommy kissed her and smoothed a hand over the braids she had put in yesterday.

“I think you’ll be fine with these in for another day.” Mommy said, and Skye was glad. She didn’t mind getting her hair done, but it was a little boring and she would much prefer to spend the time playing or watching TV.

“Can we hang out with Clint and Natasha tonight, too?”

“Of course. After you’ve been to see Andrew.” Mommy smiled. “And don’t even pretend that Nat didn’t sneak in here last night and wake you up.” She poked Skye in the side. “Because she already told me.”

Skye blushed. “I wasn’t gonna lie, Mommy.”

“Hm.” Her mom hummed. “I’m sure.”

Mommy left for work not long after she brought Skye down to the kitchen for breakfast, but Daddy was up and already working on something on his laptop while Skye ate. He was wearing his ‘working from home’ clothes, which essentially consisted of sweatpants and a washed out t-shirt. Mommy always said that the guys at the gym wouldn’t recognise him out of a suit, but Skye thought her Daddy was a lot more cuddleable in his comfy clothes. She hugged him from behind and climbed up onto her chair.

She sat next to him at the kitchen island and watched as he worked, but that got pretty boring real fast. Skye hadn’t had much experience with computers, but from what she had seen of them in her own home when Mommy and Daddy were working, they weren’t very fun. In fact, the only fun things she had ever done using the laptop in the house was to video chat with Natasha, and they could do that using Mommy’s phone.

Daddy was frowning at the screen of his laptop. Skye leaned over to see what he was looking at, and pulled a face at the confusing boxes of numbers that made no sense.

“What are you doing, Daddy?” Skye asked him once she had finished the last of her toast.

Her dad stopped his typing and turned to Skye. He smiled. “I’m just going through some of our accounts.” He pointed to a row of boxes on the screen. “See, I check whether the numbers in these boxes match the ones in these boxes, and then,” he clicked on another window and more boxes and numbers appeared, “I cross reference them with the numbers on this document.”

“Oh.” Skye said. She put a hand over his in sympathy. “That sounds awful. Really awful.”

Her dad’s face fell a little. “Yeah. It is.”

“Can’t you get someone to do that _for_ you?” She asked. “And then you could have a day off of work. And we could play together.”

Her dad kissed her. “That would be great, sweetheart.”

Skye grinned.

“But this is something I really need to do myself.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “And if I get it done all this morning, then when you come home from school, I’ll be able to play.”

“Mommy’s gonna take me to see the trees.” Skye told him. “They’re gonna be all Christmassy and pretty.”

He grinned at her. “Christmas is very soon, Skye. Are you excited?”

Skye tried to shrug nonchalantly, but couldn’t help but smile. Santa would be coming soon, and Mommy had promised he wouldn’t forget Skye this year. She just hoped he focused on all the good things she had tried to do, rather than the times she had been bad. “I’m excited.” She climbed into her dad’s lap and he wrapped his arms around her, pushing his computer away. “I never had a real family at Christmas before.”

The arms around her tightened and Skye felt her dad press a kiss to her hair. “I love you, Skye.” He said quietly. “This is going to be your best Christmas ever. You know that?”

She craned her neck to look up at him. “Yeah.” She said. “It already _is_ my best Christmas ever, Daddy. ‘Cause I got you.” She held is face in her hands and kissed his cheek.

Daddy’s eyes shone and he hugged her tightly. “And I’ve got you.”

It felt really nice to be hugged so tightly she could hardly breathe. Well, that may have been exaggerating, but Daddy was holding on to Skye in a way that made her feel like he never wanted to let her go. It was a great feeling. Skye hugged back. She wanted her Daddy to feel that way, too.

“I missed you, Daddy.” She told him, face pressed into the soft fabric of his t-shirt. It smelled like it was fresh out of the dryer.

He petted her back. “What do you mean? I haven’t been anywhere.”

“Mm.” Skye hummed. “You’ve been real busy.”

“I’m sorry. It’s a busy time of year.” Daddy looked at her with sad eyes. “It’s no excuse, though. I want you to know that no matter how busy I am, I will _always_ have time for you.”

Skye wasn’t sure that was true. But it was okay. Grown ups were busy, they had important things to do, and Skye was perfectly happy to take her time with her Mommy and Daddy when they weren’t busy.

“Skye.” Daddy said. He held her chin gently between his thumb and finger. “If you need me, if you need Mommy, anytime, anywhere, all you have to do is ask.”

She frowned. “But I don’t wanna get in your way if you’re busy.”

“I’m never too busy for my little girl.”

“Okay.”

Skye heard the front door open and both she and her dad turned towards the noise.

“It’s me!” Hunter called, walking through the living room and into the kitchen. He spotted them at the island and grinned. “Morning, Dad!”

Daddy glared at Hunter, but Skye could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Don’t call me ‘Dad’.”

“Fine.” Hunter huffed. “Good morning, father of the woman with whom I fornicate.”

“Oh God. No.” Skye’s dad grimaced. “’Dad’s fine.”

“Brill.” Hunter smiled.

“And I don’t think it’s ‘fornication’ if you’re married.”

Hunter smirked. “Well, it was fornication for plenty of years.”

“Stop, Hunter.” Daddy said.

Skye frowned. “What’s fornication?”

“Nope.” Daddy said. “Nope. Not addressing that.”

Lance turned to Skye. “Jem’s in the car, kid. You ready to go?”

Skye nodded. Her school bag was already by the front door with her coat and her shoes. Daddy lifted her off his lap and followed her and Hunter through to the front porch.

“Is Mel still okay for picking Jem up?” Hunter asked her daddy as she tried to force her feet into her sneakers without untying the laces.

“Yeah.” Daddy said, and took Skye’s shoes from her. He undid the knots and helped her slide them onto her feet. “She’ll drop her off at your place.”

“Cool.” Hunter waited while Daddy tied Skye’s shoes, holding open the front door.

The breeze touched Skye’s cheeks as she stepped out the door, and she shivered. Mommy had been right. It _was_ cold today.

“Go inside, Daddy.” Skye told her father, pushing him further into the house. “You’ll get cold.”

He smiled. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re in a t-shirt. Go inside.”

Daddy chuckled and crouched down to hug and kiss Skye. “Okay, baby. Have a good day at school. Work hard.”

“And play hard.” Hunter added from behind her.

Her daddy rolled his eyes. “Be good.”

Skye nodded. “I will. Bye, Daddy.”

Jemma was reading from a textbook when Hunter helped Skye into the car. She looked over at Skye and smiled, but then went back to her book. As they drove away, Skye inspected what she could see of the book in Jemma’s hands, and twisted her face at how unappealing it looked. They had some really cool books in their school library, and Skye’s class got to pick out one every week, but the book Jemma was reading looked like it had very few pictures, and the ones it did have were boring.

“What’s your story about?” She asked Jemma.

Jemma didn’t answer right away. She kept her eyes on the page for a few more seconds before turning to Skye.

“It’s not a story.” Jemma said. “It’s a text book. Non-fiction.”

“Oh.” Skye said. That sounded terrible. “Is, um, is it good?”

Jem grinned and shifted in her seat to address Skye. “It really is. It’s a very interesting take on the uses of stem cells and the moral obligations.”

Skye blinked.

“Frankly,” Jemma continued, “I don’t think that morality should even come into the theory, only the practice. But I enjoy reading about it nonetheless.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Skye admitted. She leaned over Jemma to see the book’s page, in the hope that something might mean more to her than the random number on her Daddy’s computer screen. “Ew.” Skye recoiled from the book when she caught sight of a photograph on the bottom corner. “Jemma, is that a _mouse_ with an _ear_ on its _back_?”

“Yes.” Jemma said. “It’s fascinating how they did it-,”

“Jemma, no.” Skye said, and settled back into her seat. “I love you, Jemma, but I don’t like ear mice.”

Jemma smiled and turned the page, the next one had only words and Skye grimaced. It looked _so_ boring.

“Bobbi got me the book from the university library where she works.” Jemma said. “It’s what I’m doing my science project on.”

“Ear mice?”

“No.” Jemma laughed. “The use of stem cells in modern medicine.”

Skye tried to look interested, because that’s what best friends did. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Jemma looked pleased to elaborate, and Skye felt a little pride at being able to feign curiosity so well. “It’s very interesting, and it’s especially cool because that’s what Bobbi does at work.”

“Bobbi’s a scientist.” Skye said. That’s what Bobbi had told her. “She works in a lab.”

“She’s a biologist.” Jemma said in a way that made Skye feel a little like she was being corrected. “She’s been working on stem cells in her lab with Izzy.”

“Bobbi’s smart.” Skye commented.

Hunter whistled from the front seat. “You’re tellin’ me. Woman’s IQ is so high it’s practically a phone number.”

“I think you’re exaggerating.” Jemma said.

“Maybe.” Hunter added. “But not by much. That’s how you’re so clever, Jem. You take after our Bob.”

Jemma closed her book. “That’s genetically inaccurate.”

He scoffed and grinned at Skye and Jemma in the rear view mirror. “Genetically inaccurate, genetically shimacculate.” Hunter brushed away Jemma’s criticism with a wave of his hand. “You still got her smarts somehow. It certainly didn’t come from genetics.”

Jemma shrugged and went back to her book, opening it on the ear mouse again. Skye looked out of the window, sighing a little when splashes of rain rolled down her window. It looked like it might be another day of indoor recess.

They pulled up in the school parking lot and Skye began undoing her seatbelt. She was already out of her seat and opening the car door before Jemma even looked up from her book.

“Come on, Jemma,” Skye said, “we need to go.”

“Coming.” Jemma slid her book into her backpack and zipped it closed with her little blue box on the zipper. She pressed the top and it made a weird ‘whooshing’ noise and lit up blue. She smiled and pulled on her backpack.

“Right kids, see you later.” Hunter said. He turned in his seat to look at them both in the back of the car.

Skye paused with her hand on car door handle.

“Mel’s picking you both up.” He said. “Jem, she’ll bring you home. Okay?”

“Okay.” Jemma climbed through the middle of the car to hug Hunter. “Bye, Dad.”

“Bye, sweetheart.” He kissed her. “Bye Skye. Be good.”

…

Hunter was all of three minutes from the girls’ school when he caught sight of Jemma’s lunchbox in the back of the car.

He parked the car in the same spot he had just vacated not even ten minutes before, and jumped out, jogging over to the school office. The school was eerily quiet in comparison to when he had dropped both girls off, all the children now safely inside their classrooms, and Hunter had to ring a doorbell to be allowed entrance into the school.

“Hey,” He said to the young man behind the desk of the office, “I’ve got Jemma Simmons’ lunch here. She left it in the car.”

“No problem.” The guy said, kindly, taking the bag. He scribbled Jemma’s name on a sticker and stuck it on the front. “She’s the little one in fifth grade, right?”

“Yeah.” Hunter said.

“Sweet kid. I’ll make sure she gets it.”

“Thanks.” Hunter, satisfied that his daughter wasn’t going to starve, left the school and began walking back to his car.

His phone buzzed as he was crossing the playground, and Lance smiled at the text from Bobbi asking if he had managed to get Skye and Jem to school without incident. The text came with a ‘winky’ emoji, so he knew most of her concern was just teasing. Hunter was texting Bobbi back when he glanced up and noticed the guy standing by the school gates, looking in on the school.

“Can I help you, mate?” Lance asked, and the man whipped around to look at him. “You okay?”

The guy wore a suit, and at first glance seemed to be well put together, but as Hunter got closer, he could see the way his shirt was buttoned wrong, the tie was fraying at the edges, and the shoes were in desperate need of cleaning.

“I was just…”

Hunter put his phone in his pocket and pulled himself up to his full height, broadening his shoulders. “What you hanging around a school for, mate? What you up to?”

The man smirked, and Hunter wanted to punch him.

“My niece goes here. I was just seeing where I could park when I come to pick her up tonight.”

The lie was blatant. Hunter took a step towards him.

“Right, you’ve had a look a the _parking_ , now maybe make yourself scarce before I call someone, yeah?”

“Of course.” The man took three steps away from Hunter without turning, and Lance made an effort to keep eye contact. He made it to the sidewalk, and blinked, breaking the contact, turning and walking quickly away from the school.

“Thought you had a car, mate?” Hunter taunted after him.

The man didn’t turn.

“Yeah.” Hunter called. “Piss off and don’t come back, you nonce.”

…

Melinda was well aware of Steve Rogers’ artistic prowess, but he had really outdone himself with the Christmas decorations in the gym. What that man could do with some tinsel and fairy lights was goddamn magical. Mel smiled as she appreciated the tree in the reception lobby. She was excited to show them to Skye.

“It’s impressive, yes?”

Melinda turned to see one of their newer employees, Sif, standing behind her, smiling at the Christmas tree.

“It is.” Melinda agreed. “Steve is quite the decorator.”

Sif smirked, slouching a little, Melinda suspected in an attempt to arrive at a height closer to Mel’s own. The woman was practically Amazonian.

“Well,” Sif said, crossing her arms, “I do not wish to boast, but I _did_ put all of the decorations _onto_ the tree before Steven fixed them into something more,” she paused and glanced back at the tree, “attractive.” Sif settled on. “So, yes, this creation is at least thirty per cent mine.”

Mel chuckled. “I’ll be sure to let everyone know.”

“I appreciate that, Mrs Coulson.”

“Melinda, or actually, I prefer ‘Mel’ if I’m being honest.” She told Sif. Mel knew she had actually had a very similar discussion with Sif before, but the woman was extremely polite, and seemed to struggle with certain colloquialisms.

The woman glanced down as she smiled. “I do apologise, um, _Melinda_. Mel.” Sif looked back up, shifting her slouched weight to the other foot. “Thank you.”

Melinda took a moment to replay Sif’s words in her mind, but came up blank. “Sorry,” she said, “’thank you’ for what, exactly?”

Sif blushed. Melinda felt her brows raise slightly at the taller woman. Sif was the epitome of cool and collected. The dusting of pink over her cheeks and the awkward way she wrung her fingers seemed foreign to her usual persona.

“Melin-Mel,” Sif corrected herself, “I thank you for the opportunity you have given me. Opportunities. There has certainly been more than one.”

“Sif, I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” Melinda admitted with a shrug. A group of soccer moms from the local middle school entered through the front doors, laughing, and carrying rolled-up yoga mats. She and Sif moved a little to the side and allowed them to pass.

Two of the woman hung back from the group and stopped by Melinda and Sif. Mel recognised both of them as regulars for a couple of the classes they ran, a mother and daughter duo. The younger of the two, Ellie, was a usual at the after-school martial arts classes they ran, and Melinda had taught her on and off for a couple of years.

Ellie’s mother grinned at Sif and gave her a friendly slap on the arm in greeting. “Hey, Sif. How’s it going?”

“Very well, Christina, thank you.” Sif replied with a genuine smile. “I do hope you are well, also?”

The woman, Christina, rolled her eyes fondly. “I’m good, and _please_ , Sif, for the love of God, call me ‘Angel’. I’ve told you.”

“Angel.” Sif said. “I will certainly make more of an effort to use your nickname.” She looked to Melinda. “Mel here, has been educating me a little on the topic.”

“Good on her.” Angel said.

“Yes.” Sif agreed. “And how are you, Ellie? Are you not usually in school at this time?”

The sheepish glance to the ground Ellie gave Sif was all too familiar to Melinda as the look of a teenager in trouble. She had an ex-teenager, a current teenager, and a future teenager for daughters. Melinda was pretty much an expert on the subject of teenage girls.

Ellie pressed her lips together and glanced at her mother. Angel sighed a little exasperatedly.

“Well?” The mother prompted her child. “Are you going to tell Sif and Mel why you’re here to attend a mid-morning yoga class with a group of middle-aged women talking about the menopause?”

Ellie grimaced. Melinda had to hold in a laugh. She rested her hand on her belly and rubbed it absently.

“I’m here as punishment.” Ellie huffed. She ran her fingers over her short hair. “A _normal_ parent would just ground their kid, but _my_ mom thinks this is better.”

“Way more effective, I’ve found.” Angel said. She wrapped an arm around Ellie’s shoulders. “I have a Negasonic Teenage Warhead for a child, but her kryptonite is social interaction with suburban moms.”

“It is.” Ellie admitted.

Melinda smiled. “And why are you being punished?”

Ellie opened her mouth, looked from Melinda to Sif, and them closed it again. She looked to her mother.

Angel held Ellie close, smirking. “My lovely daughter decided that maybe arson was right up her alley.” She looked to her daughter. “But we have discussed it, and together, have decided that spraying someone’s backpack with deodorant and lighting it on fire is _not_ the best way to avoid a math test.”

“It is not.” Ellie said. “So this is my punishment.” She shrugged at Mel. “Also, I’m grounded.” She looked to Sif. “Also, I’m not getting my allowance for a month.” Ellie put her hands in her pockets. “Also, I’m suspended for two weeks.”

Sif blinked. “Well, that certainly is a lot of punishment, Negasonic Teenage Warhead.”

Mel, Angel, and Ellie all looked to her with varying degrees of confusion.

“Oh.” Sif said. “Is that not a nickname?”

Angel snorted. “I think ‘Ellie’ will do fine for now.”

“If it helps,” Ellie smiled, “my principal calls me ‘Firestarter’ now, and I’m kinda hoping it’ll catch on, you know, nickname-wise.”

“I will not be calling you ‘Firestarter’.” Sif said.

Ellie looked to Mel.

“Me either.” Melinda told her. “I don’t encourage arson.”

Ellie pouted, looking all of her sixteen years old. “Fair enough.”

“Anyway,” Angel interjected, “come on, kiddo. We’ve got a soccer mom yoga class to get through.” She sighed. “This is your punishment, but I love you enough that I, too, am taking this punishment.”

There was a particularly loud series of giggly cackles coming from the yoga studio down the hall. Angel grimaced and gripped Ellie’s shoulders.

“An hour with those minivan mamas is like hell on earth.” Angel said. “But I care about teaching you valuable life lessons, so El, I swear to God you better appreciate this.”

Melinda sniggered when Ellie rolled her eyes so hard, she thought the teenager might fall over. Ellie looked to her mother fondly.

“Why can’t you be like normal moms and just send me to my room?” Ellie asked with a grin.

Angel began pulling Ellie towards the yoga studio. “Because you _want_ to be in your room all day. Forcing you to socialise is a necessary punishment.” She turned to Sif and Melinda. “We’ll see you guys later. I’ll be back tomorrow for your kickboxing class, Sif.”

“I look forward to it, Angel.” Sif said.

Ellie looked to Melinda. “And when I’m not grounded anymore, I’ll see you at _your_ kickboxing class.” Her eyes fell to where Melinda was stroking a hand over her bump, and frowned. “Or I suppose it might be a while before you’re teaching again, huh?”

Something pulled a little in Mel’s chest at the realisation that Ellie was right. Even after the baby was born, Mel wasn’t naive enough to believe that she would be jumping straight back into teaching her classes. They were hard on her body at the best of times, post baby, she suspected her body would need a fair while to recover.

Melinda waved a goodbye to Ellie and Angel, as the latter dragged along the former by her elbow. They disappeared down the hall towards the yoga studio, and Sif sighed happily, leaning against the wall.

“When I said ‘thank you’,” Sif began, smiling fondly, “that is what I was referring to.”

“I’m still confused.” Mel admitted. “Why should you me thanking me?”

Sif rubbed a hand over a small bruise on one arm. “You gave me this job.” She said quietly. “I will be forever grateful for that.”

“You’re very welcome.” Mel said, warmth radiating through her. “I’m glad I hired you. You’re a great addition to the team, Sif.”

The blush returned to Sif’s cheeks. “The team. That is the other thing I wish to thank you for.” She brushed hair away from her face. “I have had friends, comrades, but not for a long time have I felt _part_ of something. Accepted.”

Melinda couldn’t stop herself feeling that same tug in her chest she felt when Bobbi called her ‘Mom’, or when Natasha hugged her, or when Skye climbed into her bed in the middle of the night. Mel took a second to remind herself she already had three daughters, a Hunter, a Clint, _and_ a baby on the way, not to mention Trip and to some extent, Jemma. She didn’t need to adopt Sif, too.

That being said. Mel had plenty room under her wing for another duckling.

“Here,” Mel said, “you’ll always be part of a team. A family.”

“Well, thank you.” Sif said. “Really. Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I should get to my first session.”

“Go ahead, kid.” Mel smiled, and patted her shoulder. “You’re a favourite around here with the customers.”

Sif shook her head. “I do not believe that is particularly accurate.”

Melinda shrugged. “Believe what you want. It’s still true.”

The younger woman smiled and gave Mel a little wave as she took off towards the studios. Melinda watched her go with a fond smile. It was probably becoming a genuine issue, the amount of kids she and Phil seemed to both adopt legally, and pseudo-adopt.

Sif paused half way across the reception area, and jogged a few paces back to Melinda.

“I’ve just remembered,” she said, “yesterday, there was a man. He was asking for you. When you were upstairs with your daughter.”

“Who was it?” Melinda asked. They often had suppliers and such visiting the gym and asking for meetings with either Melinda or Phil. She made a mental note to call back whoever the visitor was.

“I do not know.” Sif said. “I did ask, but he was reluctant to share his name.” She frowned. “But he knew you. He said he was an old friend. He knew of Skye.”

Melinda stared at her. “He mentioned Skye?”

Sif nodded. “He showed an…interest in the child. He seemed agreeable enough.” She said. “Although…” The woman trailed off.

“What?”

“Do you ever get a gut feeling about someone?” Sif asked. “Like an instinct?”

Mel thought to her children, to Phil. She knew gut feelings well enough, trusted them with her life. “I do.”

“Well,” Sif shifted slightly, “he gave me a _feeling_.”

“A bad one.”

“Not a good one.” Sif said, and then looked at her watch. “I must be going, Melinda. Mel. My class awaits.”

“Of course.” Mel let her go.

The mystery man played on her mind as she walked all the way to her office. She found it hard to concentrate on her work, a pull at the back of her mind dragging her into dwellings over Sif’s words. Melinda trusted Sif, trusted her instincts.

Those feelings were how she found herself in the security office, off to the side of the main building, talking to the head guard, Dave, and bribing him with promises of Christmas cookies to let her browse the CCTV footage from the gym entrance. Really, being the boss, Mel didn’t technically need to bribe Dave, just had to ask, but she was feeling generous, and he looked like he might appreciate the gesture.

It only took twenty minutes for Melinda to find the man Sif was talking about on the cameras. She watched him enter the gym, talk to Sif, and leave the gym, all in five times speed. The man wasn’t familiar. He wasn’t distinctive. He was unassuming; the kind of guy Melinda wouldn’t give a second look to. But that feeling Sif had mentioned, it was flowing through her veins with such aggression that it made Mel want to scratch at her skin.

She paused the video and zoomed in on the man’s face.

“Oh, _that_ creep?” Dave said, a sandwich in his hand.

Melinda looked up at where he was standing watching the screen over her shoulder. “What?”

Dave shrugged with one shoulder, the set of keys attached to his belt jangling as he brushed them with his wrist. “I kicked him out of the parking lot twice last week.” He said, frowning at the man’s image on the screen. “He wasn’t, like, _doing_ anything, but just kind of loitering, you know? I asked him to leave the first time because we were closing for the night, and he was super polite, and then he was back on Friday. Same thing happened.” Dave put down his sandwich. “Super polite, but gave me a…”

“Gut feeling?” Mel suggested.

“Yeah.” He shuddered. “Creeper.” Dave shook himself out of it and turned back to Melinda. “Do we have a problem with him, Mrs Coulson?”

Mel looked at his image on the computer again. “Just,” she paused, “just let me know if he comes back. He was here yesterday. Talked to one of my girls.”

“I’ll keep an eye open.” Dave promised.

Melinda nodded. “Keep both open.”

…

No one had paid any mind to Jemma all morning in class. That was the way Jemma liked it. She liked being ignored, or maybe, that wasn’t entirely true. But being ignored was much more preferential to being targeted.

Jemma sat alone at her desk and read her book, making notes and copying passages into her notebook with colour-coded records, replacing the capped pens into her pencil case after each time using them.

“Okay, class.” Their teacher called. “ _Class!_ ” He shouted louder when the majority of the class failed to stop talking and listen. At his second call, there was a hush over the room. “Thank you.” He said. “I want you to spend the next hour working on your science projects, so get into your pairs and let’s get some good work done today.”

The students around Jemma began moving into their groups, pushing chairs to different tables and dragging desks to other areas of the room to make space for their projects. Jemma stayed where she was and continued her reading.

“Whoops.”

One of the boys swiped Jemma’s pencil case off of her desk, and the pens spilled across the carpet. Brock Rumlow and Carl Creel laughed loudly.

“Hey.” Jemma said quietly, sliding off her chair and getting down on her hands and knees to pick up the pens.

“Sorry.” Brock said without any sincerity. Jemma reached for two of her pens, and he kicked them further across the room. “Sorry.”

Jemma’s eyes burned as tears pricked at the back of them. She tried to reach for the other pens, but Creel stood in front of her. Jemma stood up.

“Excuse me, please.” She said, looking at the floor. She gripped her pencil case.

Creel sniggered. “Am I in your way?”

“Please.” Jemma sniffed, willing herself not to cry. “I just want my things.”

Next to her, Brock swept an arm across her desk, pushing her books to the ground. They fell with a thud and the rush of gathering pages. It was loud enough to catch their teacher’s attention.

“Guys,” he sighed, walking over to the three, “what’s going on here?”

“Nothing, Mr Warren.” Carl said with an innocent smile. He crouched down and picked up Jemma’s pens. “Jemma dropped some of her things.”

Brock not too gently gathered up her books and set them back on the desk. Several of the pages in the textbook were dog eared and rumpled from the fall, making the book sit not quite flat.

“We were just helping her pick everything up.” Brock lied. “Weren’t we, Jemma?”

Mr Warren looked to her tiredly. “That right?”

“Yes.” Jemma said without thinking.

“Good.” Said Mr Warren. “Well, thanks for helping, boys, but go and focus on your own project now.”

Both boys nodded and took off to the other side of the classroom, not giving Jemma a second look. She watched them go, still clutching her pencil case.

“Jemma?” Her teacher asked, and Jem looked up at him. “It’s unconventional to do a science project alone. He nodded at her books. “If you’re struggling, I can put you in a three with another pair.”

“No thank you.” Jemma answered. “I like doing it on my own.”

Somewhere amongst the other students, a tennis ball was being thrown around. Mr Warren sighed.

“Can we _not_ use the balls to hit each other in the head, but for _actual_ science?” He called. The ball continued to be thrown around he room rather than its intended use of ‘how high will it bounce?’. Mr Warren turned to Jemma. “So, you’re all good here?”

She nodded.

“Good.” He said, and left her alone. “Rumlow, if I see you doing that again you are going _straight_ to Principal Weaver!”

Jemma sat back down and took a breath. She opened her notebook, and smoothed out the pages of her textbook, and ignored the silly shenanigans of the immature bullies in her class. Instead, Jemma immersed herself in the world of stem cells, and cancer treatments, and skin grafts. She didn’t need friends. She had science; that would do.

…

“This is ridiculous.” Skye declared, dropping her pencil to the desk in a show of protest. “It’s too hard. Who needs math, anyways?”

Grant Ward rolled his eyes at her and continued to complete his own worksheet. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard if you actually _tried_ to do it instead of giving up after the first question.”

Skye glared at him. He was already on question six, _and_ he was doing the ‘hard’ math questions. Her own worksheet had a smiley face in the corner with a thinking bubble. Grant’s didn’t have any pictures on it.

“How did you even get so good at math?” Skye asked, picking up her pencil and colouring in the smiley face. “You used to suck at math like me.”

“Mm.” Grant hummed, eyes still on his paper. “My dad’s been teaching me. He’s super smart.”

Skye nodded. “And your mom’s smart.”

Both kids looked up at where Miss Potts was writing on the whiteboard.

“Yeah,” Grant said, “she is.”

“What do you wanna play at recess today?” Skye asked him, going back to doodling on her page. “It was raining when I got here so maybe we won’t be allowed outside.” She blew as raspberry. “That would suck.”

“I think it stopped raining.” He mumbled.

“Oh, cool.” Skye smiled. “So what do you wanna play? Spies? Tag? Or maybe we could do races? Jessica thinks she could beat me in running but I think I’m totally faster.”

Grant didn’t answer, too engrossed in his work, and Skye sighed. He had been like that a lot lately. Too occupied with schoolwork during lessons to talk with her or play swordfights with their pencils. She didn’t mind too much, though, because come recess, Grant was back to being his normal, _fun_ , self. It just meant that during lesson time, Skye had to find other things to occupy her.

She flipped over her worksheet and began trying to write the names of her family in the funny letters that Natasha had been teaching her. They had another name, not just ‘Russian’, but Skye couldn’t remember it. She managed to get down Mel, Phil, and Nat, before Miss Potts appeared at her side with a hand on her hip and an eyebrow raised.

Skye looked up at her guiltily. “I got stuck.” She said by way of explanation.

“I see.” Miss Potts crouched by their desk and flipped over Skye’s paper. “And you thought that ignoring the questions would be the best way to solve them?”

“No.” She said huffily.

“Skye.” Miss Potts said in her ‘teacher voice’. “This is becoming a regular occurrence in my classroom. I won’t have it.”

“But I can’t _do it_.” Skye argued. She threw down her pencil and crossed her arms. The pencil bounced across the table and landed on the floor by her teacher’s feet.

“Do you need some cool off time in the hall?” Miss Potts asked her evenly.

Skye didn’t answer. Cool-off time was happening more and more often for Skye, and every time it did, she _knew_ Miss Potts called her mommy and daddy. Skye didn’t want them to think she was being bad. Certainly not on purpose.

“I don’t need cool off time.” She said eventually. “I’m good.”

“Okay, then.” Miss Potts said. “Let’s see if we can let through some of these questions.”

Ten minutes, two almost melt-downs, and four questions later, Skye eventually found herself getting the hang of the math problems. She did the fifth one on her own, but stopped at every stage and waited for Miss Potts’ approval before she went on.

“See.” Miss Potts smiled brightly. “I knew you could do it, Skye.”

Skye blushed. “Thanks.”

“I’m done, now, Mom.” Grant said. “I mean, Miss Potts.” He corrected. “I finished my sheet.” He passed it over to the teacher, and Skye watched as she read over his answers, smiling more brightly with every correct one.

“Grant, you did so well.” She grinned, using Skye’s pencil to mark the correct answers. “Take another look at this one for me, though.” Miss Potts passed Grant back his paper and he quickly changed some of the workings on the indicated question.

“There?” He said, passing it back.

Miss Potts nodded. “Perfect.” She grinned at him. “I’m impressed, sweetheart. Really.”

“Thanks.” Grant’s ears flushed.

“That was fifth grade math. Good job.”

Skye gaped. “It _was_?”

Miss Potts nodded.

“And, um,” Skye rubbed her thumb under her nose, “what was mine?”

“Well,” Miss Potts cast her eyes to Skye’s worksheet, “when I say ‘fifth grade’ I’m just making an approximation, it’s not for _sure_ , so your math wasn’t necessarily one grade or another, Skye.”

Skye couldn’t do math, she couldn’t read too well, and frankly, science lessons just evaded her, but she knew _exactly_ what Miss Potts was avoiding saying.

“You can tell me if my math was easy math.” She told her teacher. “I don’t mind.” Skye sighed. “It was probably for pre-school or something.”

“Now, stop.” Miss Potts said. “You’re smart, Skye.”

“I’m _supposed_ to be in third grade.” She argued. “That work wasn’t third grade.”

“It wasn’t.” Miss Potts admitted, and although Skye had already known that, it still made her chest feel tight. “It was technically geared a little more towards a first grade level, _but_ , look how easy you found it once you got the method down.”

Skye didn’t bother telling Miss Potts that she had found it anything but ‘easy’ even after she had ‘got the method down’.

“You’ve been doing so well, Skye.” Her teacher said. “We’ll get you there.”

“Sure.”

Miss Potts left Grant with another set of questions, and told Skye to finish up her own. She went back to colouring in the smiley face, pressing down hard enough on its face to break through the paper with the tip of her pencil.

“Hey.” Grant whispered. “Skye, you okay?”

“Yeah.” She answered without looking at him.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, then, “Do you wanna play spies at recess? You can pick the story.”

Skye turned her head and rested it on her palm. “Okay.” She smiled.

Grant went back to his math, and Skye went back to her doodling. She didn’t need math, or reading, or science, or anything dumb like that. Skye didn’t need any of that when she had her friends and her family. Playing spies with Grant was way better than learning about the times tables.

…

Natasha was still asleep, curled up into his side long after Clint had awoken. It wasn’t _too_ late in the morning, and they had driven half the night, so he knew he was entitled to sleeping later, but he just couldn’t. Clint’s mind wouldn’t let him.

Thoughts of his brother kept him wired and restless, and eventually Clint extracted himself from a sleeping Natasha to sit down at the desk in their room browse new-media on his laptop. It didn’t help distract him, so much as add a film to his musings over Barney, and eventually just made him even more aggravated.

His phone was still switched off, the fear that Barney was somehow tracking him at the forefront of his mind. It made Clint feel sick. The anxiety made his throat feel tight and his head pound.

Natasha snuffled gorgeously in her sleep. She didn’t deserve to be scared because of _his_ brother. He was putting her in danger. Barney would have never even touched Nat if it hadn’t been for Clint’s relationship with her.

He bit his knuckles to stop from screaming in frustration, but the tears fell hot down his cheeks, regardless.

He was terrified, Natasha was terrified, and Clint tried desperately to think of _any_ plan to keep Natasha safe from his brother that didn’t involve Clint leaving her.

He tried _so_ hard.

But Clint came up blank.

…

Phil hadn’t been expecting anyone to call to the house while Skye was at school and Mel was at work, so he hadn’t bothered to change out of his ripped sweats and faded band shirt. When the front door opened and Lance Hunter strolled in with a wink at his outfit, Phil began regretting his decision.

“I thought you might have changed since this morning,” Hunter teased, plonking himself down on the couch, “but I suppose it must be a pyjama day? Eh?”

“What do you want, Hunter?” Phil asked, moving his laptop off his knees and onto the coffee table.

Hunter put his feet up on the table, and then took them down again at the look Phil gave him. “What?” He said. “Can’t a son-in-law come and visit his father-in-law without an agenda?”

Phil looked at him. “No.”

“Right, then.” Hunter said, and sighed heavily. “I better cut to the chase.”

“I think you better.”

Hunter leaned right over, head touching his knees and groaned loudly and exaggeratedly. “I’m in deep shit, Philip.” His voice was muffled, but his words clear to Phil.

“Lance Hunter,” Phil said, watching as Hunter slowly sat up, “what the hell did you do?”

Lance flung himself back on the sofa dramatically. “It’s not what I’ve _done,_ it’s what I _haven’t_ done. What I can’t do!”

“Okay…”

“Phil.” Hunter sat up. He looked at Phil with such depth in his eyes, that it took Phil aback. “Phil, I need some advice.”

“That I can do, kid.”

Lance smiled. “Tell me how to ‘dad’.”

Phil stood up from his armchair, and moved to sit down beside Hunter. He put a hand on the young man’s arm. “I can’t just tell you what to do, Lance.”

He smiled. “I was scared you were going to say that.”

“Hunter, you’re doing great with Jemma.” Phil told him. “You’re her dad as long as you do what’s best for her, and I don’t doubt that you’re doing that.”

Lance sighed. “I do.” He breathed.

“What’s going on?”

“She worries me.” Hunter admitted. “I get scared for her, I feel like no matter what I’m doing, in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about how much I’m worried about Jemma.” Hunter turned to Phil. “That’s not right, is it?”

Phil could have laughed, instead he slapped Hunter fondly on the back. “Son, that’s _exactly_ what being a dad is all about.”

“Worrying?” Lance said incredulously.

“Yes.” Phil did laugh this time. “Hunter, have you met my children? Of _course_ I worry constantly.”

Hunter’s boyish smile returned. “You worry about Bobbi?”

“She married you, didn’t she?” Phil smirked. “Sometimes she makes questionable decisions.”

“Hey.”

“I’m kidding.” Phil said. “Ninety per cent kidding.”

Hunter laughed and leaned back against the cushions. “So,” he said, apparently somewhat quelled of his fatherly concerns, “where’s kid number two and her boy-toy.”

Phil rolled his eyes at Hunter’s choice of words. “Nat and Clint are still sleeping. They got in late last night.”

“Lazy buggers.” Hunter muttered.

“You’re just jealous they’re still in bed and you’ve been up since seven.”

“Six!” Hunter argued. “And damn right I’m jealous. I haven’t had a proper lie in for ages. I’m tired.” He kicked off his shoes. “In fact…”

Phil sighed as Hunter blatantly began making himself comfortable on the couch, fluffing the pillows and resting his head on the arm.

“Are you seriously going to take a nap on my couch?”

Lance’s eyes were already closed. “I’ve had a stressful day. I’m fairly sure I chased a paedo away from the school today.”

“Wait, what?” Phil said.

“I took care of it.” Lance said with an air of authority. “Now, let me get my beauty sleep.”

“On my couch.”

“Yes.”

“In my house.”

“Yes.”

Phil moved to the armchair, eyes on the man now napping on his couch mid-morning, and chuckled. It seemed being a father had really taken it out of him.

…

“Here’s the thing.” Miss Potts was saying to Skye’s class as they lined up outside of their classroom, coats on, ready to go outside. “It was raining pretty heavily this morning, and the playground is looking a little like a swamp.”

“Do we have to stay inside?” Jessica Drew asked from the back of the line. “I already put on my jacket.” There was a whine in her voice that she sometimes did when she felt like she wasn’t getting her way. It was a little annoying.

Miss Potts shook her head. “No, no. We’re still going outside for recess.”

There was a hiss of ‘yesses’ throughout the group, and Skye nudged Grant with a grin. Their recess plans weren’t ruined yet.

“But,” Miss Potts continued, and the kids quieted down, “we’re going to have to share with the upper classes’ playground. Just for today, maybe tomorrow.”

Skye was thrilled. The bigger kids’ playground was way better than their usual one. It was bigger, had basketball hoops, and picnic tables, and monkey bars. Grant seemed to share Skye’s excitement, because he nudged her shoulder and beamed broadly as their teacher led them into the larger playground.

“I bet I can hang from the monkey bars for longer than you can.” Grant challenged her.

Skye eyed the bars as she stepped out onto the grass with Ward. “I bet I can touch the monkey bars before you can.” She replied, and took off sprinting in their direction.

For what was a liberating ten minutes, Miss Potts’ class had the entire upper classes’ playground to themselves, before the older kids filtered out from their own lessons. Skye dropped down from the monkey bars after thirty-two seconds, a new personal best, when some fifth graders thundered over and overtook the climbing frame. She took a step away, a little intimidated by the bigger kids, and watched as they began playing. Grant seemed to know some of the fifth graders, and seemed perfectly at ease with them, so Skye slipped away to join Peter and Jess who were talking by the edge of the playground and the grass.

“Hey,” Skye said as she approached her friends, “what are you guys doing?”

Peter smiled at Skye and then looked over to Jess expectantly. As much as Skye had made friends with the boy, he was still quiet, seeming to prefer to allow others to direct the conversation.

Jessica took his cue. “We’re talking about Christmas.” She said excitedly. She bounced up and down a little and the pom-pom on the top of her hat bobbed around. “It’s like _so_ soon.”

Peter nodded in agreement. “Eight days.”

“I’m getting a _Furby_.” Jess said. “And Peter’s getting a rat.”

“A rat?” Skye asked.

“Not a _rat.”_ Peter shook his head and eyed Jessica in a way that suggested they had maybe had a similar argument before. “A gerbil. Actually, two gerbils.”

“They’re practically rats.”

“Oh.” Skye wasn’t really sure what a gerbil was but she trusted Jess’ judgement. “They sound cool.”

“They are.” Peter said. “My Uncle Ben has them at his friend’s house, but he says I can’t have them until Christmas day. I’m going to call them Mary Jane and Harry.”

Jessica grinned. “That’s what my Dad said about my _Furby_.” She pouted. “It’s stupid, because I _know_ it’s in his closet. I’ve seen it.”

Skye frowned. She wasn’t sure what she was getting for Christmas. She hadn’t made a list, despite the fact that Mommy and Daddy had been bugging her to make one. She thought it was a little late now, but Skye didn’t mind _what_ Santa brought her. She would be grateful for anything.

“How comes you know what you’re getting for Christmas?” Skye asked her friends. “Why does your dad and your uncle have your presents? What about Santa?”

Peter twisted his mouth into a funny expression, and Jessica scoffed. The two looked at each other, and then turned to Skye. Jess spoke up.

“Santa’s not real.” She said, and the words hit Skye like a punch to the gut.

Skye stared at her.

Jess cocked her head to the side. “You, you knew that, right, Skye? That he’s just pretend?”

She felt her cheeks heating up at the look Peter was giving her. He looked genuinely concerned. Skye glanced at Jessica instead, and if possible, the girl made her feel even worse. It was pure pity the expression Jess directed at Skye.

“I’m sorry.” Jess said. “I, um, I didn’t know you still believed in Santa.”

“I don’t.” Skye argued. “I _don’t._ ” She felt hot and prickly under her coat and scarf. “I was just pretending I believed,” Skye lied, “because you’re younger than me and I thought _you guys_ might still believe in Santa.”

Jessica didn’t look convinced, but Skye held her gaze until the other little girl nodded. “Fine.” Jess said. “So, what did you ask for, for Christmas?”

Skye, grateful that the subject of Santa Claus had been dropped but still immensely confused and heartbroken by the revelation, just shrugged. “I didn’t really ask for anything.” She looked over to the monkey bars where Grant was hanging upside down with a kid Skye recognised but didn’t know. They were laughing.

“How could you not have asked for anything for _Christmas_?” Jessica gasped, grabbing Skye by the shoulders.

Skye shrugged again, doing so a little stronger than necessary to try and remove Jess’ hands.

Jessica stepped back, dropping her hands. “Oh, sorry.” She said. “You’re not Jewish, are you?”

Skye blinked at her. “No.”

“Okay. Then there’s no excuse for not making a Christmas list.”

“She might be a Jehovah’s Witness.” Peter added.

Skye shook her head. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Make a list.” Jess suggested. “Ask for everything, and then you’ll at least get _some_ of it.” She flicked some hair behind her. “That’s why I asked for _six Furbies_.”

As much as the older kids were a little scary to Skye, she was feeling dejected and irritated enough that approaching them in order to spend some time with Grant, was preferable to remaining with Jess and Peter. She was just looking around the playground, searching for a quick excuse that could allow her leave Jessica and Peter for Ward, _without_ sounding too rude, when Skye saw something that both allowed her to leave _and_ avoid the fifth graders.

“Sorry, guys,” Skye said to Jess and Peter, interrupting their Christmas-oriented conversation, “I need to go see my friend, Jemma.” She pointed to where Jemma was sat alone at a picnic table with her backpack and her book from the car that morning.

“Who?” Jess asked.

“My best friend.” Skye explained, already walking away.

“I thought Grant was your best friend.” Jessica called after her.

Skye rolled her eyes. “I can have two!”

Jemma didn’t even seem to notice Skye’s approach. When she leaned over the table and put her hand in the middle of Jemma’s page, the girl jumped a little, making Skye giggle.

“Sorry.” She said. “It’s just me, Jem.”

Jemma smiled. “Hello, Skye. How are you?”

Skye sighed and say down on the opposite side of the table. “Not so great.” She flicked her eyes over to the other side of the playground, where Jessica and Peter were now playing some kind of clapping game.

“What’s the matter?” When Jemma closed her weird ear-mouse book and gave her full attention to Skye, Skye smiled a bit. Jemma didn’t turn down her reading for nothing. It felt special to be that important to Jemma.

“It’s nothing.” Skye said, even though her tummy still felt funny. “Jessica Drew said something to me.” She sighed. “I just…I don’t know…”

Jemma frowned. “What did she say?”

“I don’t wanna say.” Skye mumbled. Jessica and Peter had made her feel small and stupid. Jemma was _way_ smarter and _way_ more important to her than either of them. She didn’t want Jemma to look at her the way Jess had. Skye didn’t want her pity.

“You’re my best friend, Skye.” Jem said, taking her hand. “You know that you can tell me anything, right?”

“I guess.” Skye was going to consider _maybe_ telling Jemma, but her thoughts were interrupted when some older boys appeared beside her. Her first thought when looking up at them was that they were going to be Grant and the kids he had been playing with, but Skye’s heart sank when she realised the two boys were kids she knew the names of, based only on their reputation. She shrank down in her seat.

Brock Rumlow leaned over the picnic table, his face unpleasantly in Skye and Jemma’s space. “Hey, Jemma Smellons.” He said, and then laughed, turning to the other boy by his side, Carl Creel.

Creel high-fived him.

“Get it?” Rumlow said, ignoring Skye and poking Jemma in the shoulder. “Because your last name is ‘Simmons’ and you smell.”

“Yes.” Jemma said in a small voice. “Very good.”

Skye didn’t like the feeling it gave her when Brock and Carl began laughing at Jemma. They were scary, and big, but that didn’t matter to Skye when they were being mean to Jemma. _Her_ Jemma.

“Hey!” Skye said, commanding the attention of the two boys. Jemma squeezed her hand.

Rumlow gave her a dirty look. “Who the hell are you?”

Skye took a deep breath and attempted to look as authoritative as possible. “I’m Skye. And you need to leave my Jemma alone.”

Creel laughed. Rumlow bared his teeth at her like a dog. A scary dog, not like Lucky. The look made Skye want to hide under the table.

“ _Your_ Jemma?” He asked, not waiting for an answer. He looked at their joined hands. “You gay or something?”

“Got yourself a girlfriend, Simmons?” Carl asked.

Jemma pulled her hand away. “No.” She whispered.

Skye bristled at the way Jemma timidly answered. She wanted Jem to stand up for herself, to tell the bullies to ‘go away’, but she appreciated how scary they were. Being brave was something Natasha was good at. Skye knew the story of Natasha arriving in America with no grasp of the English language and no family. Skye could be brave like her big sister.

She climbed up on the bench of the picnic table, hands on her hips and stomped her foot. “So what if she _was_ gay?” Skye found herself saying. It wasn’t exactly the defence she was going for, but she decided to roll with it while the bravery was running rife. “You leave her alone!”

“Hey, little girl,” Rumlow said, stepping closer to Skye. She was taller than him standing on the bench, but not by the amount she had hoped. “You got something to say to me?”

Skye swallowed. “Yeah, actually, I do.” She glared down at him. “You need to stop being mean to Jemma. It’s not nice.”

Creel laughed at her. Rumlow just looked mad, but Carl was laughing hysterically at her, and Skye didn’t like how it felt.

Rumlow spat at Skye’s feet and moved away to Jemma. He picked up her backpack. “You got anything interesting in here?”

“Give it back.” Jemma said.

Brock ignored her. Carl continued to laugh.

“Stop it.” Skye said. “Stop laughing.”

“Skye…” Jemma said wearily.

Skye continued to glare at Carl. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Brock taunting Jemma with her backpack held out of her reach.

Carl smirked at Skye, still chuckling. “What you gonna do?” He taunted.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She asked.

As the confrontation began to gather more weight, children from around the playground started to assemble around their picnic table. Jessica and Peter were among the kids watching from a safe distance, but Grant Ward rushed through them and looked between Skye and Creel.

“What’s going on?” He asked.

Rumlow gave him a glance, still holding Jemma’s bag. “Stay out of this, Ward.”

Grant shook his head. “Leave them alone.” He stood between Skye on the bench and Creel. “Go.”

Carl held up both hands, the self-satisfied smirk he’d been giving Skye now long gone. Grant was taller than Carl Creel was and Skye had never been more grateful for her best friend’s superior height.

“Hey, man.” Carl said, backing away. “She’s the one threatening me.”

“Whatever.” Grant grunted. “Just go. Leave it.”

Carl seemed to get Grant’s message, and stepped back away from Skye and Jemma. Rumlow, however, continued to bully Jemma relentlessly.

Grant looked over to Jemma, and Skye followed his gaze, devastated to discover tears spilling over Jemma’s cheeks with gasping little sobs. Jemma was her best friend, she was Skye’s _family_ , and seeing her hurt made the fire in her belly rage.

“You need to _leave her alone._ ” Skye hissed at Rumlow. He glanced over at her and Skye jumped off the picnic bench, ignoring their height difference and stepping up toe to toe with the boy. “Now.”

He crouched down to Skye’s height, sneering inches away from her face. “You wanna be next?”

“Try me.”

She felt Ward’s hand on her shoulder. “Just go away, Brock.” Grant said. “Leave them alone.”

Brock didn’t even glimpse up at Ward, instead, keeping his eyes on Skye. “Who do you think you are?” He spat.

“Me?” Skye said, all fear completely replaced with a bitter rage. “I’m Skye Coulson, and you made my Jemma _cry_.”

“And what can you do about it?” He smiled. “You’re just a _girl.”_

Skye gaped at him. How _dare_ he? “Yeah, I _am_ a girl.” Just like her mommy, and her sisters, and Maria, and Sif, and they could all beat the crap out of any dude.

And so could Skye.

“Give Jemma back her bag.” Skye said warningly. “Give it back.”

The group of students fell quiet, and Brock stood up straight, looking at something over Skye’s shoulder.

“Fine.” He grunted.

“What’s going on over here?” A teacher called from behind Skye. She didn’t turn around, but felt Grant shift behind her.

Rumlow shoved the backpack against Jemma, almost knocking her of her seat. “Here.” He said. “Have your stupid bag back.” Brock grabbed Jemma’s blue box keychain hanging from the zipper and grinned at Skye. “But I’m keeping this.”

When Skye would eventually look back at the turn of events, and analyse the details she could remember, she would be able to track the impulses in her brain that led her to giving Brock Rumlow a bloody nose and a gouge in his arm that would require six stiches. She would, in retrospect, wish she had waited for the teacher to diffuse the tension, instead of taking matters into her own hands. And, she would be sorry, but would not necessarily regret lunging at Rumlow’s face and biting a chunk out of his forearm.

But at that moment, Skye only saw one thing. Skye saw Brock Rumlow ripping Jemma’s keychain from her bag, throwing it to the ground, and stomping on it, smashing it into little pieces.

Brock Rumlow made Jemma Simmons cry. And so, Skye Coulson, made Brock Rumlow _bawl._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I'd love to hear you thoughts!
> 
> Btw, did you see the new CACW trailer? My lord, it killed me.


	5. We're Broken and Beaten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a heavy chapter, not going to lie. See the end notes for TRIGGER WARNINGS. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It's a long one, it's an emotional one, but it tackles a lot of things.Hopefully my next update will be sooner because this time around I was terrible and took forever to update. Whoops.
> 
> I love you, guys! Please enjoy the chapter. :) xx

When Natasha woke up it was after eleven, and she was alone in the bed. The curtains hadn’t been closed properly the night before, and the sun streamed through the gap in the middle, warming a stripe down one bare arm and stinging her tired eyes. She blinked, pulling herself up to sit, and letting the bedclothes pool around her waist.

The bedroom was a mess, and she and Clint hadn’t even been in the house for twelve hours. The night before, both she and Clint had dumped their bags, emptying the packed backpacks straight onto the carpet for a quick way to find their toothbrushes and clean underwear. Lulu the spider, having been slightly overlooked and packed into the car trunk for the duration of their trip, had been lovingly ‘unpacked’ by Natasha, and placed in her larger tank on the dresser by the bed.

Now, the spider stood static by her shallow water dish, Nat’s only company in the bedroom. Natasha slid out of bed and swapped her sleep shorts for some leggings, pulling on the zippered hoodie Clint had left on the end of the bed, to combat the December chill. Her phone was charging on the desk, switched off, and while her fingers itched to pick it up out of habit, she left the device where it was. Clint’s own phone lay next to it.

There was a note, written on the back of a crumpled napkin from the gas station they had stopped at, clipped to the notice board on Natasha’s bedroom door. It was unsigned, but declared ‘ _Gone for a run. Back in a bit. X’._ The handwriting was undeniably Clint’s, and despite logically knowing he was going to return home safe and sound, only sweaty and out of breath from his run, it didn’t quell the anxiety in Nat’s chest. She couldn’t even text him to ask if he was okay. She couldn’t even leave the house and try to catch up with him on his run because she didn’t know _where_ he had gone.

Natasha grabbed the note and folded it twice, sliding it into the pocket of the hoodie. She left the bedroom, pulling the door closed with a ‘click’ behind her, and jogging down the hall towards the stairs. Her hair fell into her face as she ran down the stairs two at time, and Natasha irritably pulled it back into a ponytail with the hair tie on her wrist, some falling out of the tie before she had even finished twisting the band.

“Have you seen Clint?” She asked her father, entering the living room.

He turned in his seat and smiled brightly at her. “Hey, sweetheart. Sleep well?”

She almost snapped at him, but took a breath and tried to school her face into something more relaxed. “Um, yeah.” She smiled. “Good. Have you seen Clint?”

Her dad nodded, looking back to his computer. “He went for a run.”

“Yeah.” Natasha said, eyes falling to the couch where Hunter was snoring lightly. “He left me a note.”

“Left a while ago.” Her dad said. “Didn’t have breakfast, though.” He scolded.

“Okay.” Clint not having breakfast was the least of her concerns. “Why is Hunter sleeping on our couch?” Natasha asked, perching on the edge of her father’s chair. “Did he piss off Bobbi?” It seemed liked the most logical reason, and having her phone switched off meant Natasha hadn’t had the chance to catch up with her older sister.

“No.” Her father said. “He’s just a had a long couple of months.”

Nat sighed. “I think we all have.”

Her dad put a hand on her knee and squeezed. Natasha knew his intention was comfort, but the action made her feel trapped and stifled. She cleared her throat and slid off the chair, taking a few steps away, pretending she was inspecting a photograph of Skye on the mantle. The little girl was making a silly face at the camera, and a fond smile crept onto Nat’s face, abating her anxiety for a moment.

It returned full force when Hunter’s phone began to ring, and Natasha pretended to fix her ponytail in an attempt to cover up the fact that the sound had almost made her jump out of her skin. Her father gave her an odd look, but then turned his attention to Lance when the man groaned and groped around for his cell.

Hunter fished the phone out of his pocket and without opening his eyes, answered and pressed it to his ear. “What?” He grumbled.

Natasha sat down on the coffee table, and smirked when her dad tried to cover his chuckles with a painfully fake cough.

Hunter sat up straight on the couch, eyes snapping open, and head whipping around to look at her dad. “I’m sorry.” Hunter said to whoever was on the other side of the phone. “You’re going to have to repeat that to me.” Hunter’s eyes remained on Natasha’s father while the other person spoke. The expression on his face wasn’t one at which to be amused, and when Natasha glanced at her dad, the serious look on his face seemed to reflect that.

“Okay.” Hunter said. “Listen, I’m actually with Skye’s dad right now. We’re family.” He shrugged at no one. “It’s confusing. Skye’s technically Jemma’s aunt, I suppose…yeah, confusing. Don’t dwell on it.”

“What’s going on?” Her dad asked.

Hunter glanced at his knees and continued to talk on the phone. “Of course. Right, I’ll be there.” He paused. “Of course, I’ll pass your over, Principal Weaver.”

At the mention of the elementary school principal, Natasha and her father both wore matching expressions of dread. It was unlikely, given the look Hunter was giving her dad, that the conversation about to take place with the principal was going to be a pleasant one.

As her father took the offered phone from Hunter, Nat shot him a sympathetic look. Hunter sighed heavily and stood up, already pulling on his jacket before her father had even spoken.

“Hi,” Nat’s dad said, “Phil Coulson speaking.” He paused, his frown only getting deeper. “Yes.” He replied.

Natasha watched as her father stood, eyes widening as he took in whatever the principal was saying. He nodded as the other person spoke, head only moving in minute twitches.

“Okay.” He said eventually. “We’ll be there soon.” Her father stopped the call and handed Hunter back his phone. “ _What the hell?_ ”

Hunter began shrugging on his jacket, shaking his head. “You know just as much as I do, Phil.”

Nat looked between them. “Know what?” She asked. They ignored her.

Her father took off towards the staircase, calling over his shoulder, “Give me two minutes to put on pants that don’t have drawstrings.”

Natasha opened her mouth to call after her father, but closed it when he disappeared upstairs. She turned to Hunter, watching as he struggled to pull on his shoes without untying the laces.

“What’s going on?” She asked.

He grunted in frustration when the sneaker refused to slide easily onto his foot. “It was the school on the phone.” Lance explained, giving up and using his teeth to untie the lace.

“I gathered that.” Natasha said, rolling her eyes. “Hunter,” she said, “what’s going on?”

“Fff urds ot erto eet.” He said around the shoelace.

“What?”

He spat out the lace. “The kids got into a fight. Jem and Skye.”

Natasha blinked. “Oh.” She felt sick, her skin shivery, but she had awoken to the feeling. Anxiety had been gripping her since realising Clint had gone out alone. The thought of Skye, her baby sister, and of Jemma, a little girl she hadn’t even met, and yet felt a warm compassion towards, both being involved in a fight bad enough for their principal to call, well, it just caused the anxiety to grow.

“Are they okay?” Natasha found herself asking dumbly.

Hunter, having eventually managed to put on his coat and shoes, shrugged in Nat’s direction. “I think so.” He said. “I mean, the principal said Jem was okay, but ‘shaken’.” He frowned. “Shaken. _Shaken_? What does that even mean.”

Natasha didn’t know.

“I’m ready.”

Natasha turned to see her father jogging down the stairs. His sweats had been replaced with jeans, and he had put on a jacket, but he still looked rushed and dishevelled.

“I’ll drive us over.” Hunter said, and her father began following them out the door.

“Wait.” Natasha called. Neither turned her way. “Dad, wait.” She rushed forward and stepped in front of the two men by the door. “What’s going on? I mean, the kids got in a fight? With who? Each other?”

Her father put his hands on her shoulders and gently steered her away from the door. Natasha shrugged him off.

“Nat, I’ll explain everything later.” He said. “But I need to call your mom, and Skye’s hurt. I just-,” He frowned, “I’ll call later.”

“Skye’s _hurt?!_ ” Natasha hissed. She hadn’t meant to sound to aggressive but her boyfriend was gone, his brother was threatening them, and now her sister had been hurt.

“She’s okay.” Her dad said, rushed. “Scrapes, bruises, Miss Weaver said, but shaken.”

Hunter groaned. “What does that _mean?_ ”

Her dad ignored him, and continued to speak to Nat. “I’ll call later.”

The two men left, pulling the front door closed behind them, and abandoning Natasha in the living room to gape at the empty space. She swallowed, pressing her lips together and doing her best not to scream.

Anxiety was a weird thing. It gripped at your chest, made your stomach feel sick, pulled at the back of your brain and blurred reality. It was a lot like fear, another emotion Natasha was all too familiar with. Fear parked itself like a bus on your chest, forcing the air from your lungs.

Anxiety and fear were so closely related for Natasha, that they were almost the same. Almost. For Nat, something tipped fear over the edge. The twitch it pulled from where it manifested in her fingers and toes, and the desire to fight that it evoked. The only problem was, that Natasha sometimes found it difficult to direct her desires in the right direction.

Clint was gone, Skye was hurt, and Natasha punched the wall.

“Did that achieve anything, Natasha?” She asked herself, sucking a breath in through her teeth when her knuckles throbbed. “No.” Nat answered herself.

Her eyes burned, and without any time to will them to stop, tears dripped down her cheeks. Natasha wiped them away angrily, biting her lip hard in an attempt to stop any more.

She was alone, and frightened, and angry, and all Natasha wanted was for everything to be alright again. But it wasn’t. The twist in her gut had her concern for Clint skyrocketing. Natasha flexed her injured hand, whimpering at the pain.

Maybe it was stupid, but Natasha didn’t care. She went looking for Clint.

…

Melinda was good at being the person in her relationship to add an element of calm to a turbulent situation. Phil tended to be the parent that freaked out. That was just how it went.

When she and Phil had walked in on Nat and Clint when they were sixteen and seventeen, respectively, and Melinda had just rolled her eyes when Natasha had leaped off Clint’s lap only to have him replace her with a cushion, Phil however, had reacted a little differently. Phil had screamed. Not _at_ the kids, just screamed in terror. It was a fine example of the fact that _generally,_ it was Phil who freaked out.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked Melinda as she whipped past him in the hallway.

She stopped, turned, glared at him, and then forced herself to breathe.

He gave her an odd look. “You seem to be freaking out.”

“I don’t ‘ _freak out’_.” Mel hissed. “I’m the calm one!”

Steve took a step back. “Okay, then.”

Melinda sighed and ran an agitated hand through her hair. She squeezed her eyes closed and attempted to recall the meditation techniques her mother had one attempted to teach her when she was a furious teen. It calmed her enough to address Steve without biting his head off.

“Sorry.” She said, straining to regain some semblance of control. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

He nodded. “It’s fine.”

“Sorry.” Mel took another, hopefully calming, breath. “Phil just called me. He barely said anything, but Hunter was rambling in the background and from what I caught, the kids got into a fight at school.” She felt sick. “I don’t know. I need to go.”

“Sure.” Steve said. “Go, go. I hope everything’s okay.”

Melinda gave him a grateful smile and patted his arm. “Me, too.”

He waved her away and Melinda took off back down the hall, quick steps becoming an urgent jog as she forwent the wait for the elevator and took the stairs two at a time. She forced herself to slow slightly when the strain on her lower back became more than just uncomfortable.

Sif gave her a concerned glance as Melinda passed through the reception area of the gym, and out into the parking lot. A small, very tiny part of her made Mel want to backtrack and assure Sif not to worry, but the need to reassure herself that her daughter was fine, was too strong.

“Oh, Skye,” Mel muttered to herself, climbing into her car, “please be okay, sweetheart.”

The urge to ignore the speed limit was strong, but memories of a horrific car accident which had nearly taken her baby girl from her were stronger, and Melinda managed to drive safely and calmly the whole way to Skye and Jemma’s school.

A man in a tie Melinda recognised, stood near the school gates, away from the parking lot, and maybe she would have been worried about that on any other day, but today her mind was already too occupied to really take in his face. She blinked, he was gone, and she was pulling into the elementary school’s parking lot with only her little girl and her daughter’s little girl on her mind.

…

They kept asking Jemma what had happened.

She knew they had called her and Skye’s dads, because while the nurse was cleaning up the nasty scrapes on Skye’s palms, Jemma had heard the teachers talking. Principal Weaver was there, too. Jemma liked her quite a bit. She was kind, and fair, but the unusually firm look she gave Jemma when she asked the girl once more what had happened out there in the playground, had Jemma clamming up.

Jem closed her mouth and looked at her feet. Her bag was by her chair and the broken chain on her zipper caught the light, making Jemma feel like she couldn’t breathe.

Miss Potts tried asking her what happened, too, but Jemma didn’t feel like speaking. She might say something wrong, and they were already in so much trouble. Jemma wanted to cry, but that didn’t seem fair because _Skye_ was the one who got hurt the most and even she wasn’t crying.

Skye was so brave.

While the teachers were back out in the hall, Jemma chanced a glance over at her friend. Skye was sitting on the paper-lined bed in the nurse’s office. Jemma had been guided in by Miss Potts and told to sit down in the plastic chair by the door. She didn’t know where Carl Creel or Brock Rumlow were.

“Now, this might sting, Skye.” The nurse said, and Jemma watched as she began wiping Skye’s hands with an antiseptic wipe.

Skye winced but didn’t complain.

Jemma continued to watch her best friend as the nurse treated her. Skye had been incredible outside. Brock had broken Jemma’s TARDIS key ring, but she had barely had time to feel the heartbreak of having such a special item taken from her, when Skye had thrown herself at Brock.

Skye looked so small sitting on the bed. The paper had crumped around where she was sitting, and her coat, which lay next to her, had a big dirty mark on the sleeve.

Brock was huge. Untouchable. Or at least Jemma had thought so until little Skye had head-butted him. It had been scary. Brock’s nose had gushed blood, and he had grabbed Skye around her neck. Jemma had watched. She had been frozen in fear. Skye had been thrashing around in Brock’s hold and Jemma had just _sat there._

 

And then, Skye had bitten him. Hard. Brock had screamed, and there had been more blood, and Skye had been pushed to the ground, and then Principal Weaver had started shouting and they had all been taken in different directions with Skye and Jemma ending up in the nurse’s office.

“You’re going to get a big goose egg, I think.” The nurse told Skye. She gently touched the already growing bump on Skye’s temple where it had connected with Brock’s nose. “Is this sore?”

Jemma could see Skye’s eyes welling up as the nurse pressed the bump, but Skye just shook her head stubbornly.

“No.” Skye said. “S’fine.”

The nurse passed her a tissue and Skye blew her nose, gingerly holding the tissue in her newly dressed hands.

The nurse turned to Jem and smiled kindly. Jemma avoided her eyes. She didn’t think she deserved to be shown a display of such sympathy when she had let Skye get so hurt.

“Anything I need to look at, honey?” The nurse asked.

Jemma shook her head. She was fine. Perfectly unharmed.

“Okay, then.” The nurse stepped out of the room, and Jemma watched as Skye waited until the door closed behind her to hop off the bed and move over to Jemma.

“Are you really okay?” Skye asked in a hushed whisper, eyes roaming over Jem’s face.

Jemma couldn’t stop looking at the purpling bruise on Skye’s head.

“Jem?” Skye prompted, crouching in front of her and lacing her fingers through hers.

Jemma could feel the smooth plastic of the waterproof dressing on her fingers. Skye frowned a little at her, and then she was being hugged.

“I’m sorry.” Skye whispered in her ear. “I’m sorry. I’m getting you in trouble.” She pulled back, keeping her hands in Jemma’s. “But I’ll make sure they know it was me. Not you.” Skye nodded. “I-I’ll tell ‘em it was me. Well,” she paused, “it _was_ me, so s’not a lie. Is it?”

Jemma blinked at her.

“S’gonna be okay, Jem.” Skye sniffled and looked towards the door. “My Mommy’s gonna be mad.”

Skye touched the bump on her head. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” She said. “I wanted to make things better and I made ‘em worse.” Her hand fell away from Jemma’s. “I make everything bad.”

The door to the office opened, and Miss Potts stepped inside. Her eyes were sad and she gave Skye a particularly long look before speaking.

“Your parents are here.” She said, looking between them. “Come on, let’s go to the office.”

Skye stood. She squared her shoulders but her expression was defeated. “I didn’t mean to ruin everything.” She said.

Jemma wanted to say something, _anything_ to make it better, but it was like a bad dream. Her tongue felt foreign in her mouth, and her mind felt like cotton wool. Nothing seemed to make sense. Jemma liked things to make sense.

“Come on.” Miss Potts said again. “Get you coat, Skye.”

Jemma watched Skye go over to the bed and retrieve her coat. She held it under one arm and Jem watched as the dirty sleeve rubbed up against her clothes. Skye stopped by the door, looking expectantly at Jemma, and Jem stood up. Skye tilted her head at her, eyebrows barely twitching into a frown, and reached by her side to lift Jemma’s backpack.

They followed Miss Potts to the principal’s office. Skye had a nasty bump on her head and vicious grazes on her hands but she was carrying Jemma’s bag. Skye was so brave. Jemma’s tummy hurt. Guilt, she thought.

“Come in.” Principal Weaver said, and held open her office door. Jemma kept her eyes on the carpet and followed Skye. The door closed behind them. “Take a seat, girls.”

When Jemma forced herself to look up, she had to try really very hard not to cry, because Lance was sat on the chair closest to the window in the office, and the look he was giving her was somewhere in between worry and sympathy. She didn’t deserve either. She moved across the room, purposely not looking at Skye’s mum and dad, and sat down in the seat by her dad.

He put an arm around her. “”S’alright, darlin’.” He said quietly.

_‘No it’s not’_. She wanted to tell him.

“Skye.” Principal Weaver said, and Jemma looked over to where Skye was still hovering by the door. “Sit down, please.”

Skye gently put the bag and coat on the ground, and moved to perch on the edge of the seat in between her parents. She didn’t look at either of them, but kept her head up and looked straight at the principal.

“Alright,” Principal Weaver said, sitting down behind her desk, “let’s get clear on what exactly happened, shall we?”

…

Clint had awoken early. He had managed not to wake Natasha as he climbed out of bed and got dressed.

She stayed asleep the entire time he sat on the bathroom floor and pretended to shower, but instead read the sixty-eight texts from an unknown number to his phone. Unknown number; known person.

Some of the texts had been the garbled nonsense of a man he had once called family, some of the texts had been disgustingly graphic threats to him and Natasha. The more he read, the worse they got. He stopped threatening Clint about forty texts in, and instead began sending photographs. Photos of Mel and Phil’s house, of their car, of Natasha. More of Natasha. So many more of Natasha.

_She’s beautiful, isn’t she?_

 

The texts read.

_Gorgeous._

 

A picture of her breasts, blurred from a digital zoom.

_So grown up._

 

_She still want me?_

 

‘She never wanted you’, Clint had seethed, texting back.

_Little brother, we’re finally talking. How nice._

 

_And I’m sure I could convince dear Natalia to my way of thinking._

 

‘Stop it.’

_We used to be so close, you and I. We could have shared her. ;)_

 

‘You’re disgusting.’

_I would DESTROY her._

 

_I would let her struggle._

 

_I would pin her down._

 

_And this time…I wouldn’t let her escape._

 

‘Leave Natasha alone.’ Clint had growled the words as he typed. ‘Leave us. Touch her and I’ll kill you.’

There had been nothing for over five minutes, and Clint had been stupid enough to hope that _maybe_ he had managed to scare Barney away, and then,

_Kill me?_

 

_Clinton. I’d like to see you try._

 

The text had come with a location. Clint had left his phone in the room, left Nat a note. He had lied to her, lied to Phil as he was running out of the door. The guilt never came, however, because the sheer loathing of the man he had once looked up to, the man who Clint had _loved_ , was too strong for any other emotion to seep through.

He ran all the way there. He didn’t register the burning in his lungs, or the blister rubbing at his heel. Clint ducked under the break in the barbed wire fence, and sprinted through the narrow alley behind the houses he had once robbed petty cash from. The muscle memory led Clint to the place he had spent wasting hours of his childhood in, the place he had first seen how much a man can bleed after a knife sinks into his abdomen, a place Clint had learned what exactly happens to snitches.

The old garage was abandoned. Barney had used it to ‘fix cars’, when they had lived together, and the mechanic’s pit in the centre had been where he had hidden anything and everything they stole. It was a perfect hide-out. Out of the way, seemingly empty, and couldn’t be seem from the roadside. Perfect for a mechanic who didn’t want to bother the public with the sounds of his workshop. Perfect for Barney who liked to demonstrate how loud one could shout without anyone coming to help.

The place looked just as dismal now as it had then.

“Little brother.” Barney grinned, appearing from within the garage. He pointed his cigarette at him. “You’ve grown.”

Clint stared at him. He looked just the same. Rusty hair filthy, the scar on his neck still visible despite the years having passed since Clint had inflicted it on him. Barney caught Clint looking and tilted his head to give him a better view, taking two quick steps forward.

“Yeah?” He said, baring his teeth at Clint. “Remember that? Remember when you almost _killed me._ ” Barney growled. “My own brother!”

“You were-,” Clint swallowed and shook his head, “you were going to _hurt_ Natasha.”

Barney laughed and threw the cigarette down. “I was going to give that little slut what she wanted.”

“Don’t you _dare_ talk about Natasha like that.”

“Like what, Clinton? Like the nice little whore she is?” He grinned and took another step towards Clint. “Because let me tell you, brother, if you hadn’t barged your way in that day,” he stepped close enough to Clint that he could smell the putrid smoke on his breath, “I would have had her bent over and begging me for-,”

Clint hit him.

Clint kicked him.

Clint spat on the man as he laughed in Clint’s face and continued to revel in his description of how he had planned to rape Natasha with a grin on his face and no remorse in a single ounce of his being.

Barney swung at him, fist colliding with Clint’s eye socket and knocking him to the ground. His head caught the ground as he fell, and he had to blink past the blurred vision and vertigo it caused.

“Little brother,” Barney bent over him and Clint lay, bleeding on the ground, “oh, little Clinton.”

Clint growled and began pulling himself up. Barney grabbed him under the arms and helped haul him to his feet. Blood dripped from his nose into his mouth, making his teeth pink.

“Want to hear a secret, Clinton?” Barney stage whispered, dancing in spot with each word. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

Clint wiped some blood away from where it as insistently dribbling into his eye.

“Here’s the secret.” Barney smiled, head tilting to one side, leaning forward. “When I had your Natasha pinned down underneath me,” he kissed Clint’s cheek, “I fucking loved it when she screamed.”

“I _hate_ you!” Clint shouted in his ear. He grabbed Barney by his hair and pulled _hard._ Clint was crying. “You were my brother!” He threw Barney down and stumbled back, hands clasping into bloody fists. “You were my fucking brother,” he kicked Barney’s ribs to punctuate each word, “you were supposed to _take care of me!”_

 

Barney sat back, breathing heavily, holding his chest. “I did.” He coughed.

“You did not.”

The blood on Barney’s face ran into his hair, into his mouth, but the blue eyes he shared with Clint stayed clear. “I tried.” He said. “Why do you think I left the petty theft? Dealing got me more money, got _us_ more money.” Barney scoffed. “I was giving you a better life and you got me fucking locked up!”

Clint felt the tears drip off his chin. “You tried to _rape_ my girlfriend.”

Barney didn’t break the eye contact. “I guess I’m just too fucked up to feel bad for that.”

“I’m going to throw up.” Clint vomited, coughing and spitting down the side of the garage. When he straightened back up, Barney hadn’t moved. “I _hate_ you.”

“I know.” Barney looked up at him.

Both were quiet for a moment. Clint wiped his bloody hands on a rag off the floor.

“Are you going to kill me?” Barney asked.

Clint dropped the rag. “I want to.”

“Go ahead.”

“But,” Clint turned away, “I’m not going to be a murderer.”

Barney scoffed. “Oh, you’re better than that, are ya?” He grinned bitterly.

“Yes.” Clint answered, whipping around. “Yeah, I am. I’m not going to be a criminal, a murderer, a _rapist_.” He shook his head. “I’m never going to be you, Barney.”

“You’re a coward, Clinton.” Barney said, struggling to his feat. His lip curled and he sniffed. “Go ahead, keep on pretending you’re some family man with your girl and your parents and that new little kid they got runnin’ ‘round. Yeah. I’ve seen it all. But remember this, little brother,” Barney looked him up and down, “I know all about what you and that little slut did. You don’t deserve any of it.”

Barney stumbled around the back of the garage, and Clint didn’t follow.

…

“It was self defence, blatantly.” Hunter said, and Skye gave him a small smile, glad he was sticking up for her.

Skye had answered all of Principal Weaver’s questions, told her _exactly_ what had happened outside, how Brock and Rumlow had been bullying Jemma and how none of it was Jem’s fault. Jemma hadn’t said anything.

“Mr Hunter,” the Principal said, “even if it _was_ self defence-,”

“And it _was_.” Mommy said.

Skye hadn’t dared look at either one of her parents, terrified of their reactions, but when Mommy spoke she put a hand on Skye’s shoulder. It made her feel a little better.

Principal Weaver sighed. “Brock Rumlow is going to have to have stitches.”

“’Cause I bit him.” Skye added helpfully.

“Yes.”

“You know,” Skye said, “him having his arm in my mouth was _way_ worse for me. I had his _blood_ on my _teeth_. Gross.”

“Skye.” Daddy murmured in warning.

“But I bit him,” Skye said, getting back on track, “’cause he had his arm around my neck.” She demonstrated best she could with her own arm. “He was choking me.”

“And the head-butt?” The Principal questioned.

Skye shrank back in her seat a little. “Well…” she felt Mommy’s hand squeeze her shoulder. “He broke Jemma’s keychain. I told you.”

“But he did _not_ hit you first.”

Hunter scoffed. “He bloody deserved it.”

“Mr Hunter.” Weaver chastised.

Skye watched as Lance huffed but remained quiet. Jemma continued to look in her lap.

“I’m going to cut to the chase.” Principal Weaver said. She looked to her Mommy and Daddy, and not at Skye. “I will have to suspend Skye.”

Skye knew it was coming. She wasn’t _that_ stupid, but it still made her feel cold and sick to hear it. Suspended. She was so bad. And she was never going to get to see the Christmas trees.

“Is that really necessary?” Daddy said. “I mean, she’s only eight. Kid’s make mistakes.”

“They do.” Weaver said. “And we have to expect that they will learn from them.” She looked at Skye. “You’ll be suspended for the rest of the week. You’ll write a letter of apology to Brock, and this _will_ be the last time I ever find you in my office for something bad. Got it?”

Skye nodded.

“Good.”

“Wait,” Mommy said, “suspended for the rest of the week? But it’s almost the winter break.”

“Yes.” Weaver said. “School gets out for the break on Friday. So Skye will not be returning to school until the new year.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Mommy said. “She can’t afford to miss more school. Skye’s been…struggling.”

“I will ensure that Miss Potts has the appropriate workload sent home to you.”

“But,” Skye said, putting up her hand, “what if the work is too hard and I can’t do it? What if I need Miss Potts’ help?”

Principal Weaver sighed. “I’m sorry Skye. But we don’t tolerate violence. Suspended.” The woman turned to Jemma and Hunter. “Mr Hunter, you can take Jemma home for the rest of the day, she seems a little shaken, but no further action will be taken against her.”

Hunter nodded.

“Skye, I’ll see you in the new year.” Weaver said. “Hopefully with a better idea of how to react in certain situations.”

Principal Weaver stood up, and then so did everyone else. Skye looked around herself to see Hunter leading Jemma over to where her backpack was, picking it up and motioning her out the door.

“See you later, guys.” Hunter said, patting her Daddy’s arm.

“Later, Hunter.” Daddy said, standing, too, and picking up Skye’s coat. It had dirt on one arm, but a smear of blood on the other sleeve. It wasn’t _her_ blood and Skye didn’t want to look at it.

When Daddy held out the coat for her to put on, she shook her head.

“Come on, Skye.” Mommy said.

Skye was the only one in the room still sitting down. She slid off her chair. Mommy held out her hand and Skye took it with her own. Mommy frowned as they left the room, holding out Skye’s dressed palm to inspect it.

“It’s from when Brock pushed me down.” Skye mumbled. “It got scraped. The nurse cleaned it.”

Mommy continued to hold her hand, gently, but still there. “Are you okay?” Mommy asked.

Skye looked up at her, fearing the anger she was so sure she would see, and saw only concern across her mother’s features. She felt her face crumple as they left the school, and unwanted tears began streaming down Skye’s face. “Please don’t hate me.”

Mommy stopped walking in the middle of the parking lot and crouched down by Skye. She pulled her into a tight hug that had the baby poking into Skye’s tummy as she nuzzled into Mommy’s hair. Her mom kissed her and rubbed her back.

“My baby.” She said to Skye. “I could never hate you. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mommy.” Skye sniffled. She kept her head resting on Mommy’s shoulder as she looked up at her Daddy. “And I love you, Daddy.”

He smiled. “I love you, Skye.” Daddy held out his arms and Skye let him pick her up. He walked them to the car and rocked Skye a few times before he opened the door. “We’ll be having a discussion about what happened today, Skye.”

She held him tightly and pressed her nose into his neck.

“But that will come later.” Daddy said. “Today I just want you to know that I love you. Mommy loves you. No matter what you did, or do, that will never change.”

Mommy came up beside them and stroked Skye’s hair, gently touching her bump. “And you’re in our family forever, right?”

Skye nodded. “Forever and ever.”

The drive home was quiet. Skye watched the houses go by out of her window in the back. But it wasn’t bad. Bad things had happened, but Mommy loved Skye. Daddy loved Skye. It was okay.

Everything was going to be alright.

And then they got home.

…

Maybe it was intuition. Maybe it was fate. Or some kind of innate connection she had to Clint Barton, but Natasha knew where to find him.

Natasha had bitten her lip until it bled, and now her mouth tasted of dirty pennies. Her injured hand throbbed. She knew she must look like hell, hair falling out of her ponytail, and wearing only short leggings and a hoodie in the freezing December afternoon.

She walked to the old mechanic’s garage. Well, she walked some of the way. And then her steps became more frantic. It became a jog, and then and run, and then a sprint. And when Natasha caught sight of a bloody figure stumbling away from the garage ahead of her, she thought she was going to collapse.

The figure turned to her, and Nat almost called out to Clint, before squinting against the light, and realising it wasn’t Clint. It was Barney.

She stopped moving, heart rate not slowing, and stared at Barney. He brought a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, and against the dark blood covering his face, Natasha could easily make out the gleaming grin of his teeth.

Barney took a step towards her.

“That better be your fucking blood.” She muttered.

He held his arms out wide and laughed. “I’m comin’ for ya, Natalia!” He shouted at the sky. “I’ll give ya a head start!” Barney yelled, loudly. No words, just anguish in the sound, and ran in the opposite direction to Natasha. She watched as he ran, eyes following him until he vaulted over a fence in the distance and disappeared.

Natasha tripped as she ran, catching herself with her hands on the rough gravel road leading to the garage. The tiny stones cut into her hands, but she got back up, brushing them off, stinging and bleeding, on her leggings, and continued to sprint.

Barney was long gone, and Natasha needed Clint.

She called for him, “Clint!”, as she rounded the corner o the garage. “Clint!” The cry of his name became a desperate wail, echoing around the abandoned building. She stopped in the open doorway, looking around frantically for any signs of him.

There was blood on the ground.

“Clint?” She said. “Clint. Are you in here?”

Fear was a strange thing. Fear parked itself like a bus on your chest, forcing the air from your lungs.

Natasha was scared.

“Nat?”

She pulled her neck painfully, whipping around in the garage. “Clint?”

“Natasha.” Clint coughed and stepped out of the shadows at the back of the room. He kept a hand over one cheek and used the wall to support himself. “Natasha, what’re you here for?”

“I was worried.” She said, stepping forward. “I was scared.”

He moved his hand. One eye was swollen, red, but with the promise of a nasty bruise to come. Clint shook his head, swallowing heavily.

“He was here.”

“I know.” Natasha said. She stepped back and slid down the opposite wall to Clint. “I saw him.”

Clint looked at her. “He saw you?”

Natasha turned and stared at the smear of blood on the ground. The winter sun streamed through a cracked window to the side, drying the blood into uneven brown patches. She nodded.

“He saw you.” Clint’s voice was hard. “Did he,” he shuffled closer to her, pushing off the wall, “did he, _touch_ , you?”

“No.” Natasha closed her eyes. She reached a hand in his direction and when cool finger wound into hers, she gripped tightly, nose twitching at the sting in her fresh wounds. “He…he didn’t touch me.”

“Natasha.” Clint breathed.

She looked up at him. “Did he hurt you?”

The laugh Clint gave was humourless and bitter. “Doesn’t he always?”

Nat didn’t answer. Clint pulled her to her feet, wrapping both arms around her and tucking her head under his chin. She let him hold her, let him lead her out of the garage, and let him gently guide her down to sit on an old upturned trash can. She pulled the napkin note out of her pocket.

“We’ll go home.” Clint said, kneeling in front of her. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He touched a hand to his hair and brought his fingers down to inspect the fresh blood on them. “Let me just try and clean up a little.”

Natasha frowned. “You’re hurt.”

“Collateral damage.”

She nodded. “I saw Barney. Saw the blood.”

“He deserved it.” Clint turned his back to her, kicking his foot over a tap on the outside wall a few times until the rust gave way and water began sputtering out. She watched as she rinsed his hands, cupping water in them and rubbing it over his face and hair.

Clint turned the tap, letting it drip lazily onto the gravel. “How do I look?” he turned to Nat.

“Like shit.”

“Thanks.” He chuckled.

Natasha got up, shaking her head. “Don’t laugh.” She ordered. “Don’t you dare fucking laugh, Clint Barton.”

“Nat-,”

“You could have _died_ , today, Clint.” She said.

His face fell.

Nat poked an accusing finger into his chest, the napkin still in her fist. “We promised we’d stay safe, _together._ You promised not to run away again.” She sighed. “You lied to me.” She pressed the napkin into his chest.

“I’m sorry.”

She met his eyes, gaze falling over the damaged skin on one side of his face and let the note fall to the ground. “But you don’t regret it.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” Clint admitted. “Tasha. I’d die to keep you safe.”

“Don’t say that.” She said through gritted teeth.

“But I would.” Clint shrugged. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

Natasha opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again when she realised that, yes, she would. She almost had done just that a couple of years before. “I would.” She breathed. “But it terrifies me.”

Clint took her hand, and then began walking. He held her palm up, frowning. “You’re hurt, too.”

“I fell.” She said. “Just scrapes.”

Her red and blue knuckles said otherwise, and from the expression on Clint’s face, he knew that, too. He didn’t say anything, just pressed his lips to the worst of the marks across her hand.

They took the long way home without either one of them voicing a preference, but with Clint’s head still bleeding, and neither one of them presenting much of an image of inconspicuousness, the long route through the quieter back streets seemed the most logical. Clint kept his hold on Nat tight, and if either one of them noticed the other keeping a paranoid look out, they didn’t speak of it.

“He thought I was going to kill him.” Clint said as they began to walk up the driveway.

Natasha was quiet. She reached the front door and tried to open it, only to find it locked. Her father must have still been at Skye’s school with Hunter.

“We’ll have to wait.” She mumbled, tugging Clint down to sit with her on the steps. “No keys.”

“He thought I was going to kill him.”

Nat looked over at him. His eye was getting worse. It made her stomach turn.

“Were you?” She asked.

He didn’t look at her, staring ahead at the street. His hand was cold in hers, and Natasha realised he was shaking.

“I could have.” Clint whispered. “I could have killed him.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I wanted to.”

She hugged his arm. “You’re shaking.”

Clint pressed his forehead into her hair. “So are you.”

“Am I?”

Natasha felt it. Now that he’d mentioned it. The shaking was involuntary, not shivers, not the body’s natural response to being cold, but full on tremors. It hurt. Everything seemed to hurt.

“I think,” She said quietly, with an air of calm that felt unnatural, “I think I might be having a panic attack.”

Clint stared at her. “Are you sure?”

“No.” Nat said. “It doesn’t feel like it normally does.”

“Maybe you’re just in shock?”

She looked at his swollen eye. “Maybe.” Natasha’s mouth tasted like dirty pennies again. When she ran her tongue over her lips, the texture was shiny and uneven. “Would you have killed him?”

Her mom’s car pulled up onto the driveway. Clint looked over at it.

“I don’t know.” He said.

Natasha’s dad got out of the car, gaping at both of them, quickly followed by her mother. He rushed to their side, putting a hand on Clint’s face.

“What happened?” Her dad asked.

Natasha shook her head. She was tired. “I don’t want to lie to you.” She said.

Her father stopped his inspection of Clint’s eye to turn to her. He frowned. “Then don’t.”

Nat smiled at him. “I love you, Daddy.” She said. “But I can’t tell you.”

Skye appeared with her mother, her little face terrified as she clung to their mom’s hand. She had a bump on her head that rivalled Clint’s eye injury.

“Are you okay, Skye?” Clint asked.

Skye didn’t reply. She hid her face in their mother’s baby bump.

“What,” Nat’s mom said slowly, “what have you two gotten yourselves into?”

Natasha looked away and Clint sighed.

“Hell.”

…

Bobbi had gone straight home after a call from Hunter telling her that he was on his way to Jemma’s school because she had been involved in a fight. She honestly thought that she had heard him wrong at first, had laughed and asked him to repeat himself. Which he had.

Jemma had been in a fight.

Izzy had been wonderfully understanding, sending Bobbi home with a hug and a well wish for Jemma. Bobbi had barely even said thank you, just grabbing her coat and keys, and running out to the car.

Driving home had given Bobbi something to do, something to focus on, but now she was alone in the house, she felt like she was at a loose end. The house was fairly clean, pretty tidy, but Hunter had at some point left a pile of magazines on the coffee table and Bobbi took it upon herself to begin pointlessly organising them just for something to do.

The variation in magazine was laughable, and despite her bubbling anxiety, Bobbi found herself smiling at the thought of her husband spending his day off flicking through _Time,_ followed by _Teen Vogue_ and _Match!_ , some British soccer publication he insisted on getting shipped to the States, that had apparently come with ’ _10 free trading stickers!’,_ if the boasting on the front was anything to go by.

She straightened the stack and placed it back down on the coffee table. Another magazine peeked out from the shelf underneath and Bobbi pulled it out. It was actually a free science magazine that Bobbi had brought back from work in her bag a few days prior. It was more a thin pamphlet advertising various pieces of equipment and over priced educational DVDs than an actual magazine, but Jemma had been poring over the few articles it _did_ have, and Bobbi hadn’t had the heart to throw it away.

She replaced it on the shelf and dropped down onto the couch.

Jemma. Her little Jem.

Jemma didn’t get into fights. Jemma wasn’t the type of kid Bobbi had ever thought would be involved in a violent confrontation. Skye, as much as Bobbi adored her, was a kid with fire in her bones and a temper that had the potential to snap at any moment, but Jemma…Jemma had always been quiet. Had always been timid.

The first time Bobbi had ever met Jemma, the little girl had been five. It had been four years ago, the first time Bobbi had ever left the country, and had spent two weeks of one early summer break with Hunter. He hadn’t wanted her to meet his parents, but she had convinced him that if his little sister was so important to him, that she would also be important to Bobbi. They had picked up Jemma from school and taken her to the local park. She had been more interested in searching the long grass for bugs, than in playing on the swings, and had remained almost glued to Hunter’s side, refusing to acknowledge Bobbi.

It had taken a week of Bobbi accompanying Hunter to Jemma’s school each day before the little girl would even look her in the eye, eventually though, Jemma had approached Bobbi in the park and deposited two ladybugs in her hand, declaring, “Ladybirds!” From then on, they had been friends.

Of course, that was so long ago now. And Jemma was no longer just Hunter’s sister. Hunter was no long just Bobbi’s boyfriend. She was married, and Hunter was Jemma’s daddy, and Bobbi, well, Bobbi was Jemma’s…

…Bobbi was Jemma’s _something._ Quite what she was, the woman wasn’t entirely sure.

The front door opened, and Bobbi hopped up from the couch.

“Hey.” Hunter said, smiling a little when he saw her. He held up the hand that wasn’t holding Jem’s. “She’s okay. She’s not hurt.”

Bobbi sighed in relief. Jemma stood static beside Hunter as he closed the door. She made no move to remove her shoes or jacket, instead kept looking at the ground.

“You’re not hurt, honey?” Bobbi asked, stepping towards her.

Jemma shook her head.

“She’s not said a word.” Hunter said quietly. “Like, literally not a word.”

Bobbi looked at him. “The school asked you to bring her home?”

He nodded, guiding Jemma into the living room. “Just for the rest of he day. Said she was _‘shaken’_.” Hunter grumbled. “Still not really sure what they mean by that.”

Bobbi shrugged.

Hunter sighed. “Skye’s been suspended.”

“Oh.” Bobbi said. She watched as Jemma moved across the room and sat down on the floor by their Christmas tree. The little girl turned her back to the tree and shuffled on her bottom until her knees were pressed against the wall. “Sweetheart…?”

Bobbi looked over at Lance, about to question their little girl’s odd behaviour, but the devastated look on his face stopped her.

“No.” He said. “No, Jem. You’re not in trouble.”

Jemma’s head perked up a little, hair shifting down her back.

Hunter shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong today, Jemma. Bob and I, we don’t want to punish you.”

Bobbi nodded even though Jemma still had her back to her.

“And even if we _were_ going to give you a punishment, I wouldn’t be making you sit in a corner.” He sniffed. “Not like _they_ made you.”

“Your parents?” Bobbi asked quietly, and Hunter nodded. She moved to crouch by Jemma and put her hands on her shoulders. “Come on, honey. Let’s go sit on the couch.”

Jemma didn’t move. Bobbi picked her up under the arms and carried her over. It felt a little barbaric to carry the nine year old in that way, but when Jemma wrapped her arms around Bobbi and curled into her on her lap, the woman forgave herself. Jem hid her face in Bobbi’s shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Bobbi questioned, running her hand through Jem’s hair.

She nodded.

Hunter sat down beside them. “Skye got a little bit roughed up.”

“What?”

He dropped his eyes to Jemma and then gave Bobbi a poignant look. “She’s fine. Got a bump on her head. But fine.”

Bobbi sighed, rubbing Jemma’s back. “What the heck happened?”

Jemma shuddered.

“I bet you’re sick of people asking you that, huh?” Bobbi whispered, nosing Jem’s hair.

Jemma nodded.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Bobbi said. “Okay?”

Jem nodded again.

“But I’d like to know what happened. Can I ask your dad to tell me?”

There was a moment in which Jemma went completely still in her arms, but then the little girl slumped, and nodded once more.

Bobbi hugged her tightly and looked to her husband. “Tell me.”

He closed his eyes, one hand blindly finding hers and clasping her fingers.

“Some lads were bullying Jem.” Hunter said with a swallow. “Skye, um, well they were being complete arseholes-,”

“Hunter!”

“They _were!_ ” He defended, eyes opening. “Anyway, Skye kicked off. Head-butted one of the kids.” Hunter was smiling.

Bobbi wanted to chastise him, but she couldn’t help smiling either. She was a grown adult. She wasn’t _allowed_ to beat up on kids who hurt her kid, but there was nothing to say she couldn’t be inwardly proud of her baby sister for doing so.

“She bit him, too.” Hunter added, grinning. “The lad’s gonna need stitches.”

“Good for Skye.” Bobbi chuckled. “I bet Mom and Dad weren’t too happy though.”

“They were…I’m not sure to be honest.”

Knowing her mother, Bobbi thought, she would have been proud of Skye on some level. But giving a kid a bite big enough to require stitches? Bobbi was fairly sure her parents would have something to say about that.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Jemma.” Hunter said again in a soft voice. He frowned. “Actually, you did.”

Bobbi shot him a glare.

“She did do something wrong.” He said. “Jemma, you should have told us you were being picked on. How are we supposed to help you if we don’t know what’s happening?”

Jemma lifted her face away from Bobbi’s shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyelashes sticking together. “Skye saved me.” Jem said in a tiny voice. “I did nothing.”

Bobbi nodded. “That’s right. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No.” Jemma said louder. She climbed off Bobbi’s lap and stood facing her parents. “I did _nothing. Nothing.”_ Jemma cried. “Skye got hurt and I didn’t do a thing to help her.”

The little girl turned and ran up the stairs. Bobbi and Hunter followed the ‘thud, thud, thud’ of her frantic steps with their eyes until she was out of sight. Her bedroom door slammed and Hunter visibly winced.

He grimaced at Bobbi. “I’m out of my depth.” He said.

Bobbi shook her head. “Don’t look at me. You’ve been a dad longer than I’ve been a…” she trailed off.

“Mum.” Hunter finished for her. He squeezed her hand. “Don’t pretend that you’re not.”

“I love her.” She said. “I love her like a-,”

“Daughter?” Hunter suggested with a smirk.

Bob blinked. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what loving someone like a daughter feels like.”

“I think,” Hunter theorised, “that it feels like this.”

“We’re parents.”

He nodded. “I think we are, love.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Bobbi admitted.

Hunter kissed her head. “Bobo, you’re not the only one.”

She hugged his arm. “Glad to hear it, Teacup.”

…

“One day,” Melinda said as she wiped gently at the graze on Clint’s head, “I will live a life where I won’t have to worry about my children so much.” Neither Clint nor Natasha looked at her, both kids sitting on the couch with unfocused eyes somewhere on the wall behind her.

Phil made a noise from the kitchen, some cutlery knocking together, and Natasha’s iron grip on Clint’s arm apparently went from firm to painful if his expression was anything to go by. Clint winced, but didn’t move her.

Melinda gently pried Natasha’s fingers from his arm and laid her hand on his lap. “It’s just your dad.” She said quietly. “He’s making us some food.”

Nat’s lip quivered, but she nodded. “I know.” She said. “It’s only Dad. He’s making food.”

Skye’s nose pressed into her baby bump and Mel put a hand on her head. The little girl snuffled but didn’t look up. “Skye?” Mel said as she finished up with Clint’s head. “Can you go put this in the trash for me?” She tied closed the little plastic bag filled with cotton wool used to clean Nat’s hands and Clint’s head.

Skye didn’t respond.

“Skye?” Mel prompted, nudging her little girl with her arm.

“No, Mommy.”

Melinda sighed. The little girl hadn’t left her side since she had spotted her sister and Clint sitting on the porch looking like, well, hell.

Hell. That had been how Clint had described it when she had asked what the two of them had gotten themselves into. Hell.

“Skye,” Mel said a little more firmly, “please go see your daddy.”

“No, Mommy.”

“Skye.” She warned. Usually the tone would have her little girl obeying her every instruction, but today hadn’t exactly been a ‘usual’ day. Skye didn’t move. “Baby,” Mel sighed, “I just want to talk to Nat and Clint, alone.”

“No.” Came the mumbled reply from the eight year old.

Melinda rolled her eyes. Skye’s arms tightened around her. “Maybe you could at least let me breathe, sweetie? You’re clinging to me like a monkey.” She could feel Skye’s lips upturn into a smile against her belly. “I love you, but I want my daughter, not a chimpanzee.”

The little girl’s giggle was like music. Melinda tickled her side, and was thrilled when not only did Skye pull away enough to show her glowing smile, but also saw that smile reflected in the little grins on Clint and Nat’s faces.

“There’s my baby.” Mel smiled. “I was worried.”

Skye put her thumb in her mouth. Mel didn’t tell her to take it out. The little girl flicked her eyes in the direction of her sister and Clint. “They’re better?” She asked, voice slurred from her thumb.

“Better?” Clint asked.

Skye looked over at him, pressing her cheek to Mel’s bump. “You were hurt.” She frowned. “You’re still hurt, but you looked more hurt before.”

“I had a little accident.” Clint said. His eye was getting more bruised by the second and the graze on his head was fairly visible through his blonde hair, but his _did_ look better since Mel had cleaned him up.

Skye took her thumb out of her mouth and touched her bump on her head. “I had an _accident,_ too.” She said to Clint. “I beat up a bully.”

Clint’s eyebrows twitched. “I know how that feels.”

Melinda’s youngest daughter turned to Natasha. The older sister was pale, and her lips were raw where she had bitten them, but she, too, looked much better than she had out in the yard. Melinda had had to clean gravel out of her palms and inspect bruises on one set of knuckles, and the more she thought about it, the more Mel realised that today was proving to be really up there as one of her most challenging days as a parent.

“Tasha?” Skye asked, holding out one of her dressed hands, palm up.

Natasha copied, showing Skye her scraped hands.

“We match.” Skye said. “I got pushed over.”

“I fell.” Nat said.

Melinda leaned over to kiss Natasha. “You terrified me.”

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Please,” Mel said, “assure me that you’re safe. Tell me you know what you’re doing.”

Natasha looked down. “I don’t want to lie to you.”

“I’m worried.” Melinda told them, looking between the two. “I’m worried I can’t protect you anymore.”

Nat looked up, opening her mouth to speak, but Skye cut her off.

“I’ll do it.” She said confidently, nodding to herself. “I’ll protect you, Tasha.” Skye, seemingly unconcerned about her injured hands, wrapped both arms around Natasha and hugged her sister close. “I’ll keep the bullies away from you guys.”

“You will?” Clint smiled, wearily brushing a hand over Skye’s hair.

“Sure.” She answered. Skye beckoned him closer, and when Clint leaned towards her, she pressed a kiss to his eye, lips barely touching his skin. “There.” She said, leaning back and doing the same to Nat’s hands. “Now you’re better.”

“Thank you, malyutka.” Nat said, hugging Skye back.

Melinda rubbed a hand over her bump. Her children were everything to her and if she could, she would have kept them all close to her. She would have never exposed any of them to such a harsh world. But life didn’t work like that, and Skye had gotten in a fight at school, and Clint had blatantly had some type of confrontation, and her little Natasha was terrified of something Melinda couldn’t see.

And Mel couldn’t protect them.

“It’s the worst feeling in the world.” Mel said. The kids looked at her as she stood. “Not being able to keep you all safe is the worst feeling in the world.” She could feel them all watching her as she turned to leave the room, intent on finding Phil in the kitchen.

“Mommy?” Skye called, and Melinda turned to look over her shoulder.

“Yes, baby?”

“Mommy, I love you.”

She smiled. “I love you.” Mel looked between the kids, all three a little broken, a little beaten. “I love you all so much.”

“I’ll keep you safe, Mommy.” Skye said. “Promise.”

…

Daddy made pizza, but Skye seemed to be the only one who wanted to eat it.

Natasha and Clint sat in the kitchen and sipped their lemonade, but didn’t really eat any more than a few bites of food. They were being very quiet. Mommy gave Skye a big hug and lots of kisses before she went upstairs for a nap because the baby was sleepy. Daddy didn’t sit down, and cleaned all the dishes in the sink instead of using the dishwasher, and then started spraying lemony-smelling stuff on the counters and wiping them down.

Skye ate a little pizza because she was hungry, even though her tummy was doing the nervous tight feeling, but then Nat and Clint stood up and left the room, and she had promised to keep then safe and protect them, so she left her pizza to follow.

“Where are you going?” Skye asked, following her sister and Clint from the room.

“I need a lie down.” Nat said, turning and stroking Skye’s cheek. “Why don’t you watch TV for a little while?” The underneath of Nat’s eye were dark, like she hadn’t slept in a long time, and Skye thought that it would be a very good idea for her sister to take a nap.

Clint, too, looked like he was feeling sleepy, so Skye took a hand in each of hers and tugged them towards the stairs. “Come on.” She said, pulling them up the steps. She was careful not to tug too hard on Nat because she had poorly hands like Skye.

“What are you doing?” Clint smiled at her.

“I’m taking care of you.” Skye said. “Come on.”

The three of them walked to Natasha and Clint’s bedroom, and Skye let go of Clint’s hand to open the door. The room was a mess. Skye grimaced at the clothes strewn around the room on the floor, and the random bottles of smelly grown up body spray and wires from chargers that took up the rest of the floor space.

“Mommy’s gonna get mad at you if she sees your room this messy.” Skye informed them.

“Mm.” Nat hummed.

Skye pulled her into the room and directed her to the unmade bed. “Get in.” She said, and then turned to Clint. “And you.”

Neither one of them moved and Skye rolled her eyes. “Now, please.”

Natasha smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”

The two took off their jackets and climbed into bed. Skye stepped around the stuff on the floor until she was at their bedside. “Okay.” She said. “It’s nap time for both of you, okay?”

Clint nodded. “Okay.”

Skye pulled the covers up over their bodies and tucked them around her sister. The silver glint of one of Clint’s hearing aids caught her eye. “Take them out.” Skye said in her best ‘mom’ voice, pointing to her own ears.

“Good call, Skye.” Nat said as Clint removed them. “He always forgets.”

Skye Climbed over Natasha on the bed to give Clint a goodnight kiss. He grinned at her. “Thanks, kiddo.”

She smiled and held his head between her hands. He couldn’t hear without his hearing aids, but Clint could do a cool trick where he knew exactly what Skye was saying, as long as he could see her lips moving. “Good-night-Clint.” She said, making exaggerated movements with her mouth so that he could understand her. “I-love-you.”

Clint chuckled. “I love you, too.”

Satisfied, Skye moved onto her sister, cuddling up to her side. “Tasha, m’gonna keep you safe. M’gonna protect you.”

Nat hugged her. “I’m supposed to be protecting you. _I’m_ the big sister.”

“Yes,” Skye said, “but I’m gonna be a big sister, too, soon. I need practice.” She sighed. “I was bad today. I need to be good so that the baby will think I’m good.”

“I love you.” Nat said. She rubbed her nose against Skye’s in a tickly eskimo kiss. “You’re not bad. You’re awesome.”

“It’s naptime.” Skye reminded Natasha. She kissed her sister and climbed off the bed. “I love you. Sweet dreams.”

Nat nodded. “Love you.”

Skye was almost out the door before she realised what was missing. “Wait.” She said, holding a finger up to Natasha and running into her own room. Mr. Snow was waiting on her pillow for her, his blue eyes glittering. “Hey.” Skye greeted him and hugging him close. “I need you to be a good cuddle bear, okay?” He smiled at her. “Good.”

“Where did you go?” Clint asked her when she re-entered the room.

“To get Mr. Snow.” Skye said.

She glanced around Nat’s room, frowning until her eyes fell on exactly what she was looking for. Sitting quietly by Lulu’s tank, black fluffy body reflecting off the glass, was Charlotte the spider. Skye lifted her from her perch and passed her to Nat.

“You can cuddle Charlotte.” Skye said to Natasha. “’Cause that’s what I got her for you for, to be a good cuddler.”

Natasha hugged the plush. “She’s a great cuddler.”

“Clint,” Skye held out Mr. Snow to him, “you-can-bor-ow-,”

“Just talk normal, baby,” Nat smiled, “he’s pretty good at lip reading.”

“You can borrow Mr. Snow.” Skye said.

He blinked. “Oh, Skye, he’s your bear. I can’t take him from you.”

“You’ve had a hard day. And Mr. Snow is magical.”

“He is?” Clint asked, taking him from Skye.

“He keeps the bad dreams away.” She looked at Clint’s swollen eye. “And he keeps the bad people away.”

“Thank you.” Clint said.

“Naptime.” Skye switched off the light in the room and closed the door behind her as she left. She had lots of thoughts in her head.

Daddy was downstairs cleaning, and Mommy was in her room, but Skye wasn’t sure where she wanted to be. Jemma was safe at home with Bobbi and Hunter. Skye didn’t have to worry about Jemma anymore today. The baby was safe with Mommy in her tummy. Daddy was safe downstairs.

Skye had to protect Clint and Natasha. Clint had said they were in Hell. That sounded scary. Natasha was the bravest, and she was scared. Skye had to protect them.

She sat down in front of Natasha’s bedroom door and folded her legs like they did when they sat on the carpet at school. Her tummy felt like it was in knots. Andrew said that when she felt anxious, Skye should list things she knew to be true. Facts.

Skye closed her eyes.

_My name is Skye Coulson._

_I am eight years old._

_I have two sisters._

_I have a mommy._

_I have a daddy._

_I have a Jemma._

_My best friend is Grant._

_My other best friend is my Jemma._

_I love them._

_They love me._

_My name is Skye Coulson._

_I am eight years old._

_I am not sorry I hurt Brock Rumlow._

_I am worried about Tasha._

_I am worried about Clint._

_I am worried about my Jemma._

_I am worried about the baby._

_My name is Skye Coulson._

_I am eight years old._

_I got suspended from school._

_I did bad things._

_My name is Skye Coulson._

_I am eight years old,_

_And I wish I was a better person._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought! Hit me up on my social media, and abuse me for subjecting you to this chapter! :) xx
> 
> \- love, Em. 
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger Warnings:  
> -mentions of rape  
> -somewhat graphic violence  
> -particularly abusive language and threat descriptions.


	6. We're In Need of Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello, lovelies. How are you?
> 
> Welcome to the chapter, strap in and read the trigger warnings in the notes at the end!
> 
> Love you, lots. We'll talk after, eh?

Bobbi left it to Hunter to call her parents and let them know Jemma was okay. ‘Okay’ was maybe a stretch, but Hunter had mentioned he’d promised to give her dad a call when he got home, and she wanted to speak to Jemma alone for a few minutes. Plus, she and Hunter had talked again. They were in agreement. Jem needed help that neither one of them were sufficiently equipped to provide, and her parents always spoke highly of Doctor Garner. Hunter was going to ask about getting Jemma an appointment with him.

The little girl’s bedroom door was shut when Bobbi reached the top of the stairs, though not clicked closed, and she only had to put a little gentle pressure on the thing for it to open. Bobbi poked her head inside.

“It’s polite to knock before entering someone’s bedroom.” Jemma’s voice was muffled.

For a second, Bobbi couldn’t identify where the voice had come from, but then she spotted the lump in the corner of Jemma’s bed, hidden under pillows and blankets, pressed against the wall.

“I’m sorry.” Bobbi said. She knocked twice on the door. “Can I come in?”

“No.” Jemma said, poking her head out from under the duvet. “I’d prefer it if you just left me alone.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen.” Bobbi stepped inside of her room. “I respect your privacy, Jemma, but you’re nine, and I’m worried about you, so I’m coming in.” She sat down on the ground by the hole in the wall. “I gotta call Clint to get this fixed.” She muttered.

Jemma, although now somewhat uncovered by her bedclothes, still remained curled up in her bed, and refused to further acknowledge Bobbi. She had her special blanket woven through her fingers and tucked under her chin. The corner of it looked damp.

“Have you been sucking on that, Jem?” Bobbi asked quietly, and while she didn’t actually refer to _what_ she suspected Jemma has been sucking on, the little girl pulled the blanket closer and flushed.

“No.” Jemma said, hiding the wet edge of the blanket. “That would be disgusting. A playground for germs.”

“I don’t think it’s disgusting.” Bobbi said. “I used to chew my sleeves when I was nervous.” She looked down at the frayed edges of the jacket she had on. “Sometimes I still do it. Habit.”

“Did you know,” Jemma said quietly, “if you manage not to do something for twenty-one days straight, then you can break a habit.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I’m not sure how true it is. I haven’t tested the theory.”

The floor was uncomfortable, and the skirting board pressed into Bobbi’s spine painfully, but she remained in place, watching Jemma as the little girl slowly sat up in bed. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair looked damp, her forehead clammy, but she was gorgeous as ever.

“Jem?” Bobbi asked.

Jemma turned to her, bringing the blanket up to rub under her nose. “Yes?”

“Skye’s okay.”

“She got hurt.” Jemma sighed. “It was my fault she got hurt.”

“I don’t believe that’s true.”

Jemma glared at her, an expression that seemed foreign to the child’s usually angelic face. “You don’t know. You weren’t _there._ ”

“Then tell me what happened.”

“Two boys were being mean to me.” Jem said. She clasped her hands together. “Brock and Carl. They’re always mean.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Tell Hunter?”

Jemma shrugged. “They’re mean. They’re just stupid boys being bullies. I didn’t want to bother anyone with something so trivial.”

“Not trivial.” Bobbi said firmly. Her fingertips dug into the bedroom carpet. It was the same beige it had been when they had first moved in. Bobbi thought Jemma might have preferred something more colourful but she hadn’t expressed any opinion on the matter.

“I’ve just been ignoring them.” Jem said. She rubbed at her cheek.

“For how long?”

The little girl blinked twice. “A few weeks?” She tilted her head to one side. “Usually the other children just ignore me.”

Something tugged in Bobbi’s chest. “They ignore you?”

“Yes.” Jemma said rather pleasantly. “And that suits me just fine.”

“So,” Bobbi said quietly, “at school, you just…stay by yourself?”

“I suppose so.” Jem smiled. “I rather like it. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying your own company.”

“No. There’s not.” Bobbi said. _But it should be a choice, not a last resort_ , she thought.

Jemma sat up straighter on her bed, crossing her legs and keeping her blanket bundled in her lap. “When the boys are being mean, I try to just ignore them.” She sighed. “But Skye doesn’t exactly work that way.” She frowned. “Not that I’m saying it was in any way _Skye’s_ fault. She was defending me. She was just being brave. She’s so brave.”

Bobbi pushed herself up off the ground. “You’re brave, too.”

Jemma looked down. “I do wish you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Then perhaps you’re judgement is skewed due to your personal feelings for me.” Jem said with a shrug. “Because I am anything but brave. I am not the brave one.”

When Bobbi sat down beside Jemma, the little girl didn’t move away. Bobbi pulled her legs up and mirrored Jemma’s position. “You know,” she said quietly to Jemma, putting a hand on her knee, “I know how it feels to not be the ‘brave one’.”

Jem’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

Bobbi smiled. “I think,” she said, “that Skye is to you, what Nat is to me.”

Jemma tilted her head, hair falling over one shoulder. “I’m not sure that I understand.”

Bobbi leaned back. “Natasha is my baby sister.” She smiled. “She’s always been smaller than me, literally, and I’ve always felt a need to protect her, but…” She trailed off, eyes moving to the ceiling as her mind drifted to the past. “Natasha’s always been the brave one. I’ve not always been able to protect her.”

It sometimes amazed Bobbi just how intelligent Jemma actually was. Seeing her grades at school or having proof of her IQ was one thing, but it was Jem’s emotional maturity that tended to surprise her. Jemma threaded her fingers through Bobbi’s and squeezed gently, shifting closer to her on the bed.

“It’s okay.” Jemma said. She smiled up at Bobbi when the women looked to her. “It’s alright.”

Bobbi nodded. Her throat felt tight and her cheeks felt too hot.

“I’m sure you are a very good big sister.” Jemma said. “Skye certainly seems to think so.”

“Skye doesn’t know the half of it.” Bobbi muttered under her breath.

At Jemma’s questioning gaze, Bobbi cleared her throat.

“Skye wasn’t with us, when I was a bad big sister.” Her eyes pricked and she frowned. “Natasha needed my help, and I was too much of a coward to give it to her.”

“What happened?”

Bobbi couldn’t tell her. Jemma was smart, but she was still just a kid and there was no way in hell that Bobbi was going to tell her such a horrific story. But Jemma was looking up at her questioningly, and Bobbi couldn’t lie to her either. “Long story, short,” she said, “someone hurt Natasha. Hurt her pretty bad.”

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Bobbi said quickly. “Just that she got hurt, and I knew she was being hurt, but instead of stepping in myself and helping Natasha, I got scared.” She swallowed. “I left my little sister with him, and I went and called Clint. Clint took care of it. But-,” Bobbi swiped at her eyes, “he had hurt her enough by then. I could have stopped it sooner.”

“But you still helped.” Jemma said encouragingly. The little girl put her hands on Bobbi’s shoulders. “You told someone who could help. _That’s_ brave _._ ”

It wasn’t easy to think about that day, almost three years ago now, when Bobbi had purely by accident come across Barney Barton abusing her little sister. Had gone to the garage looking for Natasha, but expecting to find her making out with Clint away from the prying eyes of her parents. There had been something going on, on that day. Bobbi had assumed it was a lovers’ secret meeting, not the horrific scene that had confronted her.

She had seen him hit her, force himself on her, shout in her face. Had seen Natasha spit in his face, bite his fingers, claw at his face. Bobbi could have stormed in, then, could have stopped it. But she hadn’t.

She had been too scared to do anything other than run in the opposite direction.

She had called Clint. It had taken three tries until he picked up and she frantically told him what his brother was doing.

Clint had arrived less than five minutes later and almost killed his brother. Bobbi had stayed outside and listened to the screaming and the thump as one of the three people in the garage had been thrown against the wall. She had flagged the police down and pointed them in the right direction.

But she hadn’t been brave. Not really.

“You helped.” Jemma said again.

“I know I did.” Bobbi said truthfully. Maybe it had taken three years, and maybe she did still wake from crippling nightmares and a guilt that tore at her insides, but she could now accept it. “I called for Clint. I wasn’t traditionally brave, but I helped.”

“And that’s admirable.” Jem said.

Bobbi smiled, took one of Jemma’s hands and kissed her knuckles. “As are you, darling.”

Jemma shook her head. “I didn’t do anything to help. Skye fought them off, very much tooth and nail. _That’s_ admirable.”

“You’ve been very brave in your life, though.” Bobbi said. She pulled Jemma into a hug, and the little girl went pliantly. “I think you’re very brave for what you went through with your parents.”

Jemma leaned her cheek against Bobbi’s shoulder. “They’re not my parents anymore.”

Bobbi kissed her. “No, darling, they’re not.”

…

Seeing Clint and Nat like _that_ , had been horrendous. He hadn’t helped in the slightest, leaving Melinda to deal with their injuries and occupying himself with making them all some dinner, but it was that or freak out. No, the worst thing he could so was to freak out.

So Phil kept busy.

He made dinner, he washed the dishes, he cleaned the kitchen, and the living room, and the playroom. It was work menial enough to occupy his thoughts and keep his hands busy without allowing the opportunity to fall into a crippling panic. The downstairs hadn’t been so clean since Barney Barton’s trial.

Phil looked around the living room, eyes landing on the freshly polished coffee table. The whole situation was frighteningly reminiscent of three years ago, and the only thing holding Phil back from acting on his on-going hatred of Clint’s older brother, was the knowledge that the man was locked up in a cell.

“Pull it together.” He told his reflection in the table. “The kids need you. Mel needs you. Skye needs…” Phil trailed off, glancing around the room and noting the distinct lack of his youngest daughter.

He tried to remember her leaving. She had been eating at the table, and then…he couldn’t think. His brain was foggy.

She wasn’t downstairs, but it didn’t take long to locate her. Phil found her sitting outside Natasha and Clint’s bedroom, legs pulled up to her chest, cheek pressed one knee. Skye’s eyes glanced up at him as he approached and she smiled, little face lighting up.

“Daddy.” She said.

He sat down by her. “What are you doing down here, Skye?”

She sat up straight. “I’m keeping guard.” She said seriously. “Protecting them.” The way she said it was with such sincerity, that it would have been funny, if it hadn’t been so tragically desperate.

“I want to keep them safe.” Skye said.

“Me, too.” Phil said. “But it’s not your job to protect them.”

Skye frowned. “Then whose job is it?”

Phil touched her cheek. “I think it might be mine.”

“Oh.” The little girl tipped her head back against the door with a dull thud.

“I guess I’m not doing a very good job, am I?”

Skye didn’t say anything.

“Come on.” Phil said, pushing past the sudden sickness in his stomach. “Let’s go to your room.”

“I can’t leave.” Skye said. “They’re still asleep.”

Phil sighed. It wasn’t fair that Skye felt it her duty to protect her older siblings. It wasn’t fair that his eight-year-old daughter had decided to take on such a task. He touched her hair, careful to avoid the bump on her temple. It wasn’t too bad, but the top of the bump was purpler than it had been just a couple of hours before, and Phil was sure it must have been sore.

“Daddy?” Skye said, leaning against his arm.

“Mm?” He kissed the top of her head.

Skye sniffled and looked down into her lap. “Daddy, my hands hurt.” She said, a little catch in her throat. “They’re hurting lots.”

Phil stood. He ignored Skye’s protests that she needed to stay by Nat’s door, and picked her up. Protesting or not, Skye was only little, and it didn’t take much to lift her. She didn’t wrap her arms around him, but one hand gently lay on Phil’s chest, the other resting on his forearm. Skye’s head went to his shoulder.

“Come on.” He mumbled against her hair. “Everyone’s napping. Why don’t we have a little rest, too, huh?”

Tears dripped steadily down Skye’s cheeks and she wiped them against his shirt. “Daddy.” She sniffed, and brought her thumb up to her mouth. Phil wasn’t going to stop her sucking it, but Skye didn’t bother anyway. Instead she pressed her face into the side of his neck and let him rub her back.

Phil lay on top of the covers of Skye’s bed, the little girl still in his arms. She was still crying, but almost silently, exhaustion apparently taking over as her eyelids fluttered. Phil wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

“Oh, baby.” He said. “Rough day, huh?”

Skye looked up at him, and nodded.

“It’s going to be alright.” He assured her.

“It is?”

“Yeah.” He said with what he hoped was confidence, and tried not to think about his other kids in the next room over, bruised and bloody from a confrontation he could do nothing about. “Of course.”

Skye cuddled close, folding her little fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“How are your hands, Skye?” He asked. “They hurt bad?”

She sighed heavily, a long and drawn out stuttered breath. “S’okay. Stings.”

He wished he could take her pain away, but her little hands were ravaged with scrapes and beyond the dressings that were already present, there really wasn’t much he could do but let them heal. Phil kissed her palms.

Skye smiled. “There.” She said, cheek still pressed against his chest. “You kissed ‘em better, Daddy.”

The optimism and love of an eight-year-old little girl was enough to break his heart. “I love you.” He told her. “I love you so, _so_ much, Skye.”

She blinked at him. “Even though I was bad.”

“Even though you made a choice you maybe shouldn’t have.” He clarified. “I’ll always love you. I love you unconditionally.”

“What does that mean?”

Phil smiled and kissed her nose. Skye crinkled it adorably and he did it again.

“It means,” He said, “that no matter what you do, no matter what you say, or feel, or think, I promise to love you forever and ever.”

Skye was quiet for a moment, eyes drifting away from his. “That’s a very big promise.” She said.

“Yes, it is.” Phil said. He touched her chin and she looked up at him. “But it’s a promise that I will _always_ keep.”

“You’ll love me,” Skye swallowed, “no matter _what_?”

“Yes.” Phil said. “Do you believe me?”

There was a moment where Skye closed her eyes, and her whole body seemed to sag against him, a solid dead weight across his chest as every ounce of tension seeped away from her tiny muscles. She didn’t move to speak, eyes remaining closed.

“I think,” She said, a whisper of words against his neck, “that I do believe you.”

Phil could have cried. Did cry. Kissed her hair and let a tear track a line from his eye, down into the crease of his neck. It was unexplainable. Something changed. Something was different.

“Skye.”

“Daddy.”

…

_Natasha had gone looking for Clint._

_He had told her to stay home, to let him handle it. It was_ his _brother after all, he said._

_But Clint was_ hers _and that made Barney Barton her problem, too._

_Weeks ago, when Barney had dragged Clint up to the garage and roughed him up a little (nothing too horrific, just a scrape here, and a bruise there), it had been a case of ‘you threaten Clint, you threaten me’, for Natasha. She had been all ready to go after the man then, but Clint had stopped her. Had told her Barney was all bark, and only a little bite. That once he realised that trying to blackmail both of them into giving him money wasn’t going to work, he would back off. Go somewhere else for his cash._

_Nat had been worried that Barney was going to tell, but she saw the way he looked at Clint. The way he still called him ‘kid’. Barney wouldn’t squeal on them. He loved his brother too much to have him sent to prison. Even if he did need fast cash to pay back some pissed off dealers._

_But then it had changed._

_Barney decided that if they didn’t have any money for him, then he would have something else. He was going mad, becoming bitter, becoming cruel and nasty. Barney wasn’t looking for a better life, anymore. He was looking for something that wasn’t there, and dedicated to hurting as many people as he could along the way._

_Clint was still his little brother. He had a whisper of fondness for him._

_Natasha…_

_Barney liked Natasha._

_When Barney texted Clint, told him he wanted Nat for himself, Clint had gone. Told Nat to stay in the house, and to go to Bobbi’s room. Keep the doors locked, stay safe._

_He had kissed her, and promised to come home soon._

_But then it had been three and a half hours, and Clint wasn’t answering his phone. Natasha had to find him. There was only so much that Barney’s nostalgia for his brother could do. Barney Barton wasn’t the petty criminal he used to be. He was a madman._

_Bobbi hadn’t known what was going on, just that something was up. Natasha had to sneak out of the house, had taken her sister’s car and driven to the first place she thought Clint and Barney might be._

_Clint wasn’t there. Barney glanced in her direction as she entered the practically derelict garage._

_“He was here.” Barney said, looking back down at something on the desk at the back. He had his back to her and she couldn’t see what it was. “Told him I was gonna make a deal with Trickshot.” He huffed a laugh. “Kid believed me. Went to see ‘im before I could to stop the ‘deal’. Trying to keep me out of trouble.” Barney looked at Nat over his shoulder. His lip was bloody and swollen. “Clipped me first, though.” He indicated the lip. “For disrespecting you.”_

_Barney looked her up and down and licked his bloody lips. “Told him it was a joke.” He leered at her. “Believed that, too.”_

_“Where is he?” Natasha asked, slightly disgusted at the hesitancy in her voice. Barney scared her._

_Barney shrugged. “Probably getting’ his ass whooped by Trickshot. Teach ‘im a lesson.”_

_He turned from the desk and took a couple of steps towards Natasha, grinning. “Want to see something as beautiful as yourself, Svetlana?”_

_She stepped back._

_“Don’t be shy, Commie.” He smiled. “Look at this sexy lady.” Barney pulled the gun from behind his back, and Natasha tried her best not to flinch. “You seen one of these before?”_

_It was a semi-automatic pistol. One she was sure Barney actually had no idea how to handle. Natasha had grown up in the drug circle of a master dealer. She knew guns. Barney Barton did not._

_He waved it too close to her face, holding it wrong and grinning as he passed it from hand to hand. “Present from a kid who owed me some.”_

_“Why?” Nat said._

_Barney looked offended. “To protect myself. It’s my right.” He gritted his teeth and shoved the barrel of it into her cheek. “Reminds people who’s boss.”_

_The pressure of the gun pushed the inside of Natasha’s cheek against her teeth. Barney put his hand on the other side of her face to stop her from pulling away._

_“What do you think, Nikita?”_

_“You’re hurting me.” She gasped._

_Barney stepped closer, relaxed his pressure on her cheek and pressed his lips to her ear. His breath was hot and she wanted to throw up. “Good.” He whispered._

_“Get off.” Natasha said. She pushed him. “Get away.”_

_“Ha!” Barney laughed and grabbed her hair at the root. The barrel left her cheek and instead dug painfully into her sternum. “Don’t tell me what to do.”_

_“Get off.”_

_“I’m the boss.” Barney kissed her cheek and Natasha head-butted him._

_She was scared. Barney stumbled back, but his grip on her remained. She was trapped._

_“You want me.” He licked her jaw._

_Nat gagged._

_“You gonna try to get away, Natalia?” Barney turned her, pressing his front against her back. He ran the gun down her chest and between her legs. “Go on, try.”_

_She kicked and bit and clawed. Knocked the gun to the ground. But Barney was stronger than her. Pinned her over the desk as he rutted against her backside. He slid a hand down the back of her jeans, jagged fingernails catching at her skin._

_Barney turned her around until she faced him. He had ripped her shirt, groped at her breasts too hard. He kept trying to undo her jeans, but Natasha clawed at his hands. He screamed in her face._

_“You fucking little whore!” He yanked her hair. “You think you’re too good for a fuck? Huh?” Barney gripped her chin in his hand. “Well, you’re not.”_

_Natasha bit him._

_He slapped her face._

_She spat in his._

_It went on for too long. Barney seemed only to get more determined, forcing his hand down the front of her jeans and pressing the fingers of his other hand against her throat. She was exhausted. She couldn’t fight. She was crying._

_“Please”. Natasha hated herself for begging. “Please, stop.”_

_And then Clint was there, and Barney was being thrown against the wall. He was on the ground. Clint was kicking him in the stomach, in the chest, in the head. Kicking him over and over._

_Natasha fell to the ground._

_“You’re_ disgusting _.” Clint screamed at him. “She’s. Six. Teen.” He punctuated each syllable with a kick. “You fucker!”_

_The police dragged Clint off him. Someone helped Nat up. Bobbi was there. She was crying. Clint was in a police car. Barney was on the ground._

_She had thought he was dead. She was happy._

_And then he got up. Stumbled away with a police officer on each side of him. He smiled when he passed her._

_“I’ll make ya scream for me one day, Natalia.” He slurred, and an officer elbowed him in the face._

_Natasha had wanted Clint. Had cried for him. Was crying for him._

_Clint. Where was he?_

_Clint. She needed him._

_Clint?_

_Clint._

_Clint!_

_“Clint!”_

“Nat!”

Natasha gasped as she awoke, sitting up in bed and coughing as she breathed.

“It’s okay.” Clint said, pulling her close. “S’okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”

She was soaked in sweat. Shivering.

“It’s okay.” Clint told her. “It was just a dream.”

She shook her head as she clung to his shirt.

“No.” She choked out. “It was a memory.”

…

Hunter let Bobbi have her time with Jemma. Whatever his wife had said to their little girl, it had seemed to work, because eventually, Jemma came out of her bedroom, and although she remained unusually clingy to Bobbi, she seemed less upset.

She let Bobbi make her some juice, and nibbled on the biscuits that Hunter set out on a saucer for her. Hunter brushed her hair as she sat at the kitchen table with her juice, Bobbi sitting by her side.

“What do you fancy, then?” He asked, running the brush through her hair. After all the commotion of the fight, and the crying, and being holed up in her bed, Jem’s hair had needed a little bit of TLC, and to be able to brush and style it was the ice-breaker Lance needed to get the conversation he wanted to have rolling.

“I don’t mind.” Jemma said, sipping her juice. “You pick.”

He split the hair into two sections, curving the comb and making her parting into a zig-zag, in the same way he had used to do with Bobbi when they were dating and she let him play with her hair. Lance began plaiting the hair in French braids.

“I spoke to Phil before.” He said.

Bobbi looked up at him a little questioningly, and he nodded. She lifted her chin in acknowledgement.

“I asked him about maybe you seeing Andrew, Jemma?” He tried to keep the suggestion light and casual.

Jem had a biscuit half way to her mouth. She paused, and put it back down onto the plate. “Oh.” She said.

Bobbi put a hand on her arm and Hunter started the second plait.

“What do you think about having a few sessions with Andrew?” Bobbi asked.

Jemma shrugged. “I think it’s unnecessary.”

“Why’s that?” Bobbi said.

“Going to see a psychologist?” Jem huffed a little. “Putting children in therapy is what people do to kids who have been traumatised by an event.”

“To help them.” Hunter clarified.

“Right.” Jemma said. “Well, I don’t _need_ help.”

Hunter sighed as he tied off the plait with a purple hair bobble. He kneeled by Jemma’s side and she regarded him warily.

“I just think,” He said, “that Andrew could really help you. You’ve been through so much, darlin’.”

“I’m perfectly capable of helping myself, thank you very much.”

“Jemma…” Hunter sighed. “Please.”

The little girl frowned at him.

“Please,” Lance took her hand, “just try it? For me?”

He hadn’t wanted to guilt her into doing something she didn’t’ want to, but Hunter truly believed he was doing right by his little girl. She had been through so much, and she was reluctant to really speak her feelings to either he or Bobbi. She just needed someone to talk to.

“Okay.” Jemma sighed. “I’ll go.”

“Thank you.” Hunter smiled. He kissed her forehead. “I got Doctor Garner’s phone number from Phil and spoke to him before. He was happy to see you today.”

“Today?” Jemma said incredulously and even Bobbi look surprised.

“He made some time for you.” Hunter said. “He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

Jemma didn’t say anything to that, just went back to her juice. Bobbi smiled at him.

She kissed the top of Jem’s head, and left the kitchen, giving Hunter a passing look her knew to be ‘follow me’. He did, closing the door after himself.

He sighed and stepped into Bobbi’s arms.

“You’re doing the right thing.” She said, hugging him. “She needs help.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so proud of you.” Bobbi said.

Hunter pulled away slightly. “Why?”

She smirked. “Because you’re doing right by your daughter, even though what she _needs_ isn’t necessarily what she _wants_.” Bob kissed his cheek. “You’re growing up, teacup. Becoming a real father.”

He felt his cheeks flush. “Yeah, well,” he ducked his head and nuzzled at Bobbi’s neck to hide his blush, “couldn’t have done it without you, wifey.”

She petted the back of his neck. “Call me ‘wifey’ again an I’ll punch you.”

“Noted, Bobo.”

He knew without being able to see it that she was rolling her eyes. Hunter pressed a kiss to her clavicle and squeezed her.

“I love you. Just…” He sighed, “just…don’t forget that, will you? I love you.”

She pressed her nose into his cheek. “I won’t forget. I love you, too. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

…

Andrew’s office was in a building that served as a place of working residence for fifteen different psych specialists. Hunter wasn’t particularly well-versed on the difference between them all. Frankly, clinical psychologist, psychotherapist, psychiatrist; they all kind of sounded the same to him, but he trusted Phil and Melinda’s judgment, and he trusted that Andrew Garner was the right choice for Jemma based on their analysis of him.

The waiting room for Doctor Garner and some of the other docs, was in the upstairs of the building, and fairly warm and welcoming for such a clinical place. There were couches, or single chairs to choose to sit in, and drink-making facilities in one corner. The two receptionists greeted the three of them kindly on entrance, logged Jemma into the system, and informed all three that Doctor Garner would be out in a few minutes to take Jem’s appointment.

Bobbi took Jemma’s hand and sat with her by a bookcase filled with dog-eared, and worn paperbacks that Hunter suspected were for show more than anything else, given that the other two patients in the room waiting for their own therapists, were engrossed in their smartphones. Jemma sat on the chair closest to the bookcase, and began moving her finger along the titles, pausing every now and then to remove a book and inspect the cover and the blurb, offering it to Bobbi for inspection if it appeared to be of interest.

Hunter, for his part, felt weirdly nervous and jumpy. He was restless, unable to sit still, so he took the opportunity to feign casualness and pretend to read the various notices on one of the boards.

“Jemma Simmons?”

Hunter looked up at the voice, seeing a tall man stood at the opening to a hallway at the other end of the waiting room. Jemma raised her hand and stood from her chair.

“That’s me.” She said to the man.

He smiled kindly and took a step towards her. “Wonderful to meet you Jemma.” He said. “I’m Doctor Andrew Garner. I’ve been expecting you.”

Jemma nodded.

“Can I ask who accompanied you here, today?” Garner asked.

Jemma had a hand in Bobbi’s and she raised their joined hands in his direction, pointing at Hunter with her other.

“Wonderful.” Doctor Garner said. “If you’d all like to follow me?” He gestured for them to follow, leading all three into his office, and closing the door after Hunter. “Please,” he said, “take a seat.”

The room offered either an armchair, a couch, or two chairs around a small desk in the corner. Hunter took his cue from Jemma, and sat next to her on the couch. Bobbi sat on the little girl’s other side.

“Well, Jemma,” Doctor Garner said, sitting in the armchair, “would you like to introduce me to your acquaintances?”

Hunter thought that was an odd choice of words, but Jem apparently didn’t see any peculiarity in it, or at east not enough to refuse an answer. She looked over at Hunter first, giving him a small smile.

“This is Lance Hunter.” She said, turning back to Andrew. “But most people call him ‘Hunter.”

“Nice to meet you, Lance Hunter.” Garner said.

“Sometimes,” Jemma continued, “Bobbi calls him ‘Teacup.”

Lance groaned. “The Doctor doesn’t need to know that, Jem.”

She smiled. “Sorry.” Jemma looked at Bobbi. “This is Bobbi Morse. Well, Bobbi Morse Coulson-Hunter. Her name isn’t _really_ ‘Bobbi’, but I won’t say what it really is because she doesn’t like it.”

“I see.” Doctor Garner flexed his fingers in his lap. “It is nice to see you again, Bobbi Morse Coulson-Hunter.”

“And you, Doctor.” Bobbi said.

Hunter had almost forgot that Garner had been Nat’s therapist. It made sense that Bobbi would have seen him on occasion.

“You seem to have gained a name in the years since our last meeting.” He smiled. “Congratulations.”

She blushed. “The semantics are still being worked out.” She said, glancing fondly in Hunter’s direction. Marriage has giving me a lot of names.”

Garner chuckled. “You don’t want to be Lance Hunter-Morse?”

Hunter smiled. “I’m considering it.”

Doctor Garner leaned slightly forward in his seat, speaking only to Jemma. “We’ll be talking to each other today for forty minutes, Jemma. Now we can do that a couple of ways.”

Jemma nodded her understanding. “Okay.”

“So,” he said, “we can either continue like we are now, with Lance and Bobbi in here with us, or,” he paused, “we can have a conversation together, and they can wait outside.”

Hunter opened his mouth to inform the Doctor that Jemma would feel more comfortable if he and Bobbi remained with her in the room for her session, when Jemma herself cut him off.

“I’d like them to leave, please.”

Bobbi caught his eye over the top of Jemma’s head, and the expression of hurt confusion was one Hunter was sure he was mirroring.

“Are you sure?” Doctor Garner asked.

“Yes.” Jemma said confidently.

Doctor Garner spoke a little to him and Bobbi as they left, but Hunter didn’t listen. He let himself be led into the waiting room again, this time sitting down in the chair by the bookcase. Bobbi dropped down beside him.

“I’m trying not to take it personally.” She said in a low voice, mindful of the other patrons in the room.

Hunter gaped at her. “She just _kicked us out_.”

“Yeah.” Bobbi said, tugging her sleeves over her knuckles. “Yeah.”

“Oh my God.” Lance said. “She hates us. She hates me.”

Bobbi rolled her eyes. “She does not.” His wife took his hand and squeezed. “Get a grip, Hunter. I think she just needs some time to talk to someone _outside_ of this whole thing.”

He let Bobbi ramble on and soothe him into a state of calm anticipation, rather than heart-wrenching anxiety. She held his hand, and kissed his cheek, and eventually her speaking became a conversation in which he participated, and they began talking about things other than the fact that Jemma had not wanted them to be a part of her very first therapy session.

“Is nine too young to need a therapist?” Hunter asked.

Bobbi screwed her face up in thought. It was adorable. “No.” She decided. “Not if she needs it.”

“Mm.” Hunter hummed. “I suppose it’s just something I can’t exactly relate to.” He sighed. “When I was nine, I was having the time of my life.” He chuckled. “God, it was great being nine.”

Bobbi smiled. “I bet you were a little shit.”

He grinned so widely that his cheeks began to ache. “Oh, you have no idea. I was bloody adorable, and it’s easy to get away with murder when you look like I did.”

“I’ve seen pictures.”

“So you know how cute I was?”

She kissed him. “Still cute.”

“Oh yeah?” He dropped his voice. “You trying to seduce me in a waiting room?”

Bobbi smirked at him, stretching back in her seat and letting her shirt ride up enough to show off a smooth section of her stomach. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He swallowed. “No, it would not.”

Bobbi pulled her shirt down over her belly. “Do you think we would have been friends when we were nine?”

Hunter shook his head. “Not a chance.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because I was a nine year old little lad from the rough end of South London, which is saying something.” He nodded at her. “And you were a pretty little blonde thing with a boarding school education and a bright future.” Hunter smiled. “We were in different worlds, then. Plus, I genuinely thought girls were disgusting when I was nine.”

Bobbi cocked an eyebrow. “Well, that changed at some point.”

“Yeah.” He smiled fondly. “But then when I was twelve I had a wet dream about the Cheeky Girls, and I never looked back.”

“Who?”

He blinked away memories of the twins in a music video that had been the catalyst for young Lance’s sexual awakening. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Anyway,” Bobbi went on, “I know I was at boarding school when I was nine, but I wasn’t exactly out of your league. I wasn’t high-class.”

“But you _paid_ for _school._ ” Hunter argued. “Jesus, when I was nine, for Christmas, I got a packet of _Smarties_ and a _Match of the Day_ annual from the year before and I over the bloody moon.”

Bobbi cocked her head to the side. “I didn’t go home for Christmas when I was at school.” She said quietly. “My aunt used to send me a card and some candy, but I still didn’t get much.”

Hunter wrapped an arm around her shoulders guiltily. “Sorry, love.” He kissed her temple. “I didn’t mean to make this a ‘who had the shittiest childhood competition’.” He sighed. “Christ knows we both had enough going on to get medals.”

“Mm.” She agreed and cuddled into his side. “Well, you live and learn. At least we know how _not_ to parent.”

“You’re not wrong there.”

They sat quiet for a few moments, Bobbi’s head on Hunter’s shoulder, and his nose in her hair.

“What was it like?” He asked eventually.

She lifted her head. “What was what like?”

“Boarding school.” He clarified. “I always wanted to go to boarding school. Looked brilliant on _Harry Potter_.”

Bobbi scoffed. “Let me tell you, it was _nothing_ like Hogwarts.”

“Oh.” Hunter said a little disappointed. “But you liked it? You told me you used to cry in the summer when you had to go back your Aunt and Uncle’s.”

“I _did_.” Bobbi stressed. “Because it was the lesser of two evils. They spent thousands of dollars every year just so they didn’t have to take care of me.” She looked down at her lap. “School sucked, but at least I didn’t have to worry about my Aunt’s creepy drunk husband from hitting me with a belt.”

Hunter wrapped both arms around her, holding her head close to his chest.

“It’s okay.” She told him. “It’s over. I’m over it.”

He had to breathe through the fury. “It’s a good job he’s fucking dead.”

“Hunter.” Bobbi kissed his jaw. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Before my Mom and Dad. He’s gone now.”

“Yeah.” Hunter said. “Or I’d kill him myself.”

“Well, a heart attack beat you to it, but thanks.” Bobbi gently pulled back from him, remaining in his arms but allowing herself some breathing space. “We’re both okay.”

“Yeah.” He said. “Yeah.”

“And,” Bobbi continued, “Jemma will be, too. And we’ll never send her off to boarding school.”

“Agreed.”

“Unless she wants to go.”

Hunter cringed. “Maybe.”

Bobbi smiled. “Yeah, no future children will ever be shipped off to school. We’ll keep them close. Keep them safe.”

Hunter smiled at her, stroking a strand of blonde hair by her ear. “Future children? We’re having future children.”

Bobbi blushed and looked down. “I mean, yeah? We’d make gorgeous babies.”

He tipped her chin and her eyes met his. “Is this your weird way of telling me that you’re pregnant?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not pregnant.”

It wasn’t exactly disappointment he felt at her admission, but there was something there he couldn’t put his finger on. “Oh, okay.” Hunter brushed a thumb over her cheek. “We would have beautiful babies, though.”

“Yeah.” Bob said.

“Or…” Hunter trailed off. It was something he’d thought about before, but never bothered to bring up. It had never seemed like the right time.

“What?” She asked.

“Um…” He coughed. “Maybe we could, you know, adopt? Adopt kids?”

Bobbi smiled at him, a proper smile that showed her teeth and crinkled her eyes at the corners. “We could.”

Hunter shrugged. “Maybe in the future?”

“Yeah.” Bobbi said. “How many?”

“Well, I mean, we already have one. Another ten and we’ve got a whole footie team.”

She shook her head, still smiling like he’d offered her the whole world on a silver platter. “Shut up, Teacup.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

…

Jemma was glad when her dad and Bobbi left her alone with Doctor Garner. There was something about not having them there listening in on her conversation that abated a certain amount of pressure to achieve something during the session.

“So,” Doctor Garner said. He started lots of his sentences with ‘so’. “Hunter and Bobbi, they are what to you?”

Jem blinked at him. “Are you trying to aske me what I classify them as? Because there’s no need to go around the subject.” She folded her arms and tried to stretch her feet to reach the floor. “I’d rather you just ask exactly what you want to know.”

He smiled at her. “You certainly are a very bright young lady. Skye has told me a lot about you. It seems her analysis of intelligence was correct. You certainly are very smart.”

“Thank you.” She said.

“I would like to know how to see Bobbi and Hunter, though.” He said. “Because I know you have biological parents.”

“Everyone does.” Jemma pointed out.

“Correct, but not everyone lives through the unique situation you have.” Doctor Garner said. “You have no contact with them anymore?”

“I do not.” Jemma said. “And I’m grateful for that. Lance was my brother, and now he’s a father figure.”

“And you call him…?”

“Dad.” Jem said. The word was comforting. And once when she said it, the image of a balding middle-aged man with a mean streak and drunken temper came to mind, but now, well, he was still there, hovering a the back of her awareness, but Hunter was there at the front. Hunter was keeping her safe.

“Dad.” Doctor Garner repeated. “And he has adopted you?”

“Yes. My biological parents didn’t want me, and I didn’t want them.”

The Doctor paused. “And Bobbi?”

Jemma smiled, wrapping both arms around herself. “Bobbi is Hunter’s wife.”

“Is that all?”

Jem looked over at a poster of _Garfield_ on the wall of the room. “You want me to tell you that I think of her like a mother? Or that I don’t?”

He chuckled. “Smart.”

“I’ve been told.” She brought her eyes back to him and smiled. Jemma appreciated his honesty. She would try her best to be honest right back. “Bobbi is more difficult to explain.”

“Tell me why.”

She smirked. “You really are a therapist aren’t you?”

Doctor Garner shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

“Skye calls you a ‘feelings doctor’, you know.” Jem said. “I’ve tried to explain to her that you’re a legitimate child psychologist and that she shouldn’t belittle the fact that you went to four years of medical training.”

“Ten.”

“I’m sorry?”

Doctor Garner sat forward. “Ten years of medical training.”

Jemma frowned. “But medical school is only four years long.” She argued. She wasn’t wrong. She knew that. “Four.”

“But,” Doctor Garner said far too gently, “I did my four years of med school, then I did another four of residency, and _then_ decided psychiatry was more for me and did another two years placement in a medical mental institution.”

Jemma opened her mouth, and then closed it again. “Oh.” She said. “I, I thought it was four years to be a psychologist.”

“Psychiatrist.” He corrected. “I’m actually a psychiatrist.”

Jem felt her cheeks heat up. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get it wrong.” She frowned, angry with herself. “I didn’t know there was a difference!”

“It’s alright, Jemma.”

“No, it’s not!” She told him. “I got it wrong. I’m not supposed to get things wrong.”

Doctor Garner moved slightly in his chair. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not me.”

“Jemma,” He said, “we all get things wrong sometimes. It’s a part of being human. Making mistakes is how we learn.”

That was a ludicrous statement, and Jemma felt angry with him for believing that it was true. “I can learn perfectly well _without_ making any mistakes.”

“But if I hadn’t corrected you just now, when would you have learned about the difference between psychologist and psychiatrists?”

Jemma stuttered. “Well, I, um…”

“I’ll explain it to you, Jemma.” He said kindly. “I’m not angry with you for getting it wrong. I’m not disappointed. And I’m happy to explain if you’d like me to.”

She was torn. “I don’t like it when I get things wrong.”

“Maybe that’s something we can work on.”

“But why?”

“Because,” Doctor Garner said, “it seems as though it makes you feel bad, and I don’t want you to feel bad. I want you to be confident, and to not be afraid of making mistakes.”

Jemma looked away. Garfield looked back at her from the poster, sweating and struggling to climb and gym rope. According to him it was ‘all about trying’. That was easy for him to say, he was a cartoon cat.

She sighed. “Explain it to me, please.” The words were soft, and Jemma couldn’t explain why she had to try really hard not to cry, but Doctor Garner didn’t seem to mind.

“Okay, then.” He said. “In the most basic of senses,” He explained, “a psychologist has a PhD and a psychiatrist has an MD. Do you know what they are?”

Jemma wiped her eyes. No tears were there, but her throat felt full and tight. “Philosophy Doctor and Medical Doctor.” She said. “I know that.”

“That’s correct.” He smiled. “Other differences include the fact that a psychiatrist can prescribe medication, where a psychologist cannot.”

Jemma looked up at him in interest. She hadn’t known that.

“And,” He continued, “generally a psychiatrist tends to focus on patients with mental disorders. Generally.”

“I don’t have a mental disorder.” Jemma said. “And neither does Skye. Does she?”

He smiled. “No, but I am also experienced in psychology. Especially child psychology.”

“You’re very talented.” Jemma said with admiration.

“Thank you.” Doctor Garner rested his arms on the arms of his chair. “I believe that you are also very talented.”

“I am.” Jemma said with no over confidence. It was just a fact. “I have a high IQ. I’m doing very well in school.”

“Academically?”

She frowned at him. “Is there any other way?”

“Socially?” He suggested, and Jemma scoffed.

“That doesn’t count. You aren’t _graded_ on how many friends you have.” She shook her head. “Friends don’t really matter.”

“Oh?” the doctor sounded surprised. “But I hear from Skye that you are her best friend.”

“I am.” Jem said. “That’s why she protects me.” She thought about Skye being hurt by Brock because Jemma was a coward. “Skye is brave. I want to protect her, too, but I’m not brave like her.”

“I take it we’re now talking about the events that occurred at school, today.”

Jemma nodded. “I suppose someone told you over the phone?”

“Your dad.” He said. “Although I’d like to hear the whole thing from you.”

“I was being bullied. Skye protected me. Skye got hurt. I did nothing.” Jemma said. She dug her fingernails into her palms. “There really isn’t anything more to it.”

Doctor Garner picked up his clipboard, but wrote nothing down. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Jemma tried to get her toes to reach the floor again. “I’d prefer not to talk about what happened at school today.”

She was extremely surprised when Doctor Garner said, “Okay. Then we won’t talk about that today.”

“Really?” She failed to keep the utter shock out of her voice. Jem had read about therapists. Seen them on TV and in movies. She had really thought he was going to pressure her for answers.

“I won’t make you talk about anything you don’t feel comfortable discussing with me, Jemma. That isn’t what these sessions are about.” He smiled at her kindly. “I’m here to help you.”

“Okay.”

The doctor _then_ scribbled something down on his paper. “I’m just making a note to myself, about the things you don’t want to discuss.” He said as he wrote. “We’ll see how you feel talking about it at a later time.”

“Okay.”

He looked up from his clipboard. “So, let’s talk about something you would _like_ to talk about.”

Jemma nodded. “Like what?”

“Well, before, we were talking about Bobbi.”

Jemma smiled.

The doctor smiled back. “I take it we can comfortably talk about her?”

“Yes.” Jemma grinned. “Bobbi’s amazing. She’s wonderful.”

He nodded. “Tell me about her.”

So Jemma did. Talking about her Bobbi was an easy thing. It didn’t take much thought, or reasoning. It didn’t dredge up negative memories or anxious feelings in her chest and stomach. It was light, airy, and pleasant. It evoked a pride in Jemma that she hadn’t realised was there.

“You love Bobbi?” Doctor Garner asked.

“Yes.” Jem said. “I love her an awful lot.”

“And she loves you?”

Jemma nodded. “She does. I know she does. She tells me all the time. Shows me.”

Doctor Garner smiled and leaned back in his chair. “I’m going to ask you a frank question, Jemma. I could skirt around it, and make my own assumptions, but I think you’d prefer it if I just addressed it directly.”

_This_ was what Jem liked about this doctor.

“Yes.” She said. “Ask away.”

He nodded. “Is Bobbi your mother?”

Jemma cleared her throat, giving herself a moment to think. She appreciated Doctor Garner’s approach, but it didn’t necessarily allow for much of a thought process. And Jemma preferred to think things through.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that Bobbi would like to be my mum.”

He nodded. “And what would you like?”

“I’m not sure.” She said truthfully. “I love her, but…”

“Yes?”

Jemma tugged on the end of her plait. “I never liked my father.” She admitted. “He was nasty, he shouted, and he hit my mother. I didn’t love him and he didn’t love me.”

“So,” Doctor Garner said, “Lance Hunter was a welcome replacement?”

“Yes.” Jemma said, happy he seemed to be following. “But my mother…she wasn’t always so bad.” She closed her eyes. “She wasn’t very nice in the end, but I can remember when she was kind. Sometimes when I was very little, she told me that she loved me.” Jem sighed and opened her eyes. “I suspect those memories are from before substance abuse overtook her life.”

“You seem very well educated on why your biological mother’s care deteriorated.”

“I am.” She said. “I’m clever. And I listen and observe.” Jemma smiled, but it was sad and bitter. “I was never young enough not to know what alcoholism was like. It changed her.”

“I see.” Doctor Garner frowned. “Do you miss your mother?”

“No.” She said quickly. “I don’t.”

“Do you miss the mother that you used to have _before_ she was an alcoholic?”

She tickled her cheek with the end of her plait. “Some days. Not often, but…sometimes.”

“And Bobbi…?”

Jemma dropped her gaze to her feet. “I want Bobbi to be my mummy.” She hadn’t meant to sound so juvenile. “But I feel guilty. Like I’m cheating on my mum. Which makes no sense because she’s not that person anymore.” She looked up at Doctor Garner expectantly, wanting him to give her answers.

“I think you’ve answered your own question, there, Jemma.” He said. “She’s not that person you miss.”

“So I shouldn’t feel guilty.” She deduced.

He just shrugged. “That’s your decision to make.”

Jemma nodded. “I see.”

“It’s just something to think about.”

…

Skye fell asleep in her own bed sprawled across the chest of her Daddy. He fell asleep, too, and when Skye awoke and sat up, her Daddy didn’t even move. He was snoring, and Skye put her hands over her mouth so her giggles wouldn’t wake him.

She kissed his cheek and climbed over him, leaving her room and closing the door behind him.

The house was too quiet.

Natasha and Clint’s door was still closed, so Skye pushed her ear up against it and listened hard. They were talking. Not loud enough for Skye to make anything out, but she could hear the low rumbling of Clint’s voice. They were safe. She decided to leave them alone. They had had a very bad day, just like Skye.

Mommy’s bedroom door was closed. Skye couldn’t hear anything so she opened it and peeked inside. Mommy was asleep, curled up on top of her covers, with one hand on the baby. Skye waited in the doorway for a moment. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping for, but nothing happened. Mommy didn’t wake up. Skye left her and the baby, and went downstairs.

It was cold outside, but sunny. Skye put on her shoes, and her coat, and at the last second decided that Mommy would tell her to wear a hat, so she grabbed it from the hook and pulled it on. She wasn’t supposed to go outside without telling anyone, but there was no one to tell. Mommy and Daddy were asleep. Clint and Natasha were safe in their room.

But Skye felt all stuck and too hot in the house. She wanted to go outside.

The front yard was good for playing soccer, maybe even better than the back yard, because the front yard had a painted goal on the fence that gave Skye something to aim at. There were four different balls on the front porch, and Skye picked the silver soccer ball that had once belonged to Hunter, and began shooting it at the painted goal.

It was fun. It made Skye forget about her sore hands and the bump on her head.

“Hello.”

The ball missed the goal, and Skye turned towards the voice. A man stood at the end of their driveway by the fence. Skye didn’t know him.

“Hello.” He said again.

Skye didn’t speak. The man wore a suit, like her Daddy did for work, except this man’s suit looked like it had seen better days. His sleeve was ripped, and there were stains on his white shirt.

“I’ve been watching you.” He said. “You’re very good.”

Skye looked over to where the ball sat stationary near the edge of the fence at the other end of the lawn.

“You’re very quiet, aren’t you?” He said.

Skye tucked her cold hands inside of her sleeves. “I’m not ‘posed to talk to strangers.” She said.

The man frowned. “I’m not a stranger, Daisy.”

_Daisy?_ “You got the wrong kid, mister.”

“I don’t think so. I’d know my own Daisy anywhere.” He stepped onto the grass. “Don’t you remember me, Daisy?”

“I’m _Skye_.”

He reached out to her and Skye stumbled away from his dirty fingernails.

_“Skye? Skye?!”_

Clint’s voice sounded through the front door, and Skye turned as opened it, relief flooding across his face when he saw her.

“Honey, what are you doing out here?”

Skye turned around. The man was gone. She looked back to Clint.

“Soccer.” She said, indicating the ball in the grass.

He sighed, stepping out of the house towards her. “You know you’re not allowed out without asking. We were worried.”

She felt a little shaken. That man had tried to grab her, she was sure, and now he was gone. Skye was scared of ghosts, she decided.

Clint seemed a little surprised when she launched herself into his arms, and even though he groaned in pain, he lifted her into his arms and held her close. She hugged him.

“What’s up, kiddo?” He asked gently. Clint chuckled. “Actually, after the day you’ve had, I guess that’s a stupid question, huh?”

Skye didn’t reply. Clint’s eye was even more messed up than it was _before_ his nap. It was swollen and ugly. Skye kissed it to make it feel better.

“Thank you.” He said.

Skye looked over her shoulder. The man still wasn’t there.

“Skye? Are you alright, Squirt?” He asked.

She frowned. “Clint? Are ghosts real?”

He raised both brows. “No. I don’t think so. Why?”

“There was a man…” Skye looked back behind her, and trailed off.

“A man?” Clint sounded serious. “What man? Skye? What man?”

Skye turned back to him. “I don’t know.”

“Did he talk to you? Skye? What did he look like?” Clint looked mad, and Skye didn’t like it.

“Are you mad at me?” She said in a small voice.

His face softened, and he kissed her head. “No, no, kiddo. Not mad at you. I was…I was just worried.”

“About the ghost?”

“The man.” Clint said. “What did he look like?”

Skye remembered his suit. His dark hair. His dirty fingernails. “I don’t know.” She lied. The man made Clint mad and worried, so Skye didn’t want anyone to know. “I don’t know.” She said again.

Clint carried her inside. Natasha told her off for going out on her own, but then she made Skye hot chocolate, and they watched a movie about a girl called Merida who liked to shoot a bow and arrows. Clint liked her and she had red hair like Natasha. Skye looked out of the window for the man.

“Mommy?” She asked, a long time later when Clint and Nat were watching TV, and her Daddy was on the phone with Bobbi. Mommy was getting ready to take Skye to see Andrew for her session. She said that Jemma had been to see him earlier, and that was what Daddy was talking to Bobbi on the phone about.

“Yes?” Mommy answered, putting Skye’s hat on her head.

“Are ghosts real, Mommy?” Skye asked.

Mommy sat back on her heals, crouched by Skye. She tilted her head to one side. “Ghosts?” She asked and Skye nodded. “No, baby. Ghosts aren’t real.” She stood up and rubbed her thumb lightly over the bump on Skye’s head. “Why do you ask?”

Skye didn’t want to lie to Mommy, so she shrugged instead. “Can we still go see the trees at the gym?”

Mommy smiled and nodded, which Skye hadn’t expected at all. She had only asked to change the subject, but she was thrilled with the result.

“Really?” She smiled. “I get to see the trees?”

Mommy laughed. “As long as you realise it’s because I love you and I want you to be happy, and _not_ because I’m rewarding you for your behaviour at school today.”

Skye couldn’t help but grin when Mommy did. “Cool.”

Mommy shook her head. “Cool.”

…

“Seriously, Dad,” Grant said as he and Tony worked on the latest model of their miniature Iron Man robot, “you should have seen it.” The little boy grinned. “Skye beat his ass up!”

Tony laughed. “Don’t say ‘ass’.”

“Fine.” Grant said, passing him a spanner, “ _butt_.”

Lucky trotted into the room and dropped a soggy tennis ball at Tony’s feet, cocking his head, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He did a little ‘ruff’ and looked poignantly at the ball.

Tony rolled his eyes and threw the gross ball out of the room, dog flying after it.

“I guess it was an exciting day, then, huh?” He said.

Grant nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I was worried because Skye got real hurt, but Mom says she’s okay.”

It was only a recent thing, Grant calling Pepper ‘mom’, and he wasn’t sure any of them were entirely used to it. Grant called her ‘Pepper’ more often to her face, but to Tony, he almost always called her ‘mom’. It was cute. Tony had chosen not to comment on it.

“But she got suspended.” Grant continued. “So she can’t come to school until after Christmas.”

“That sucks.” Tony said.

“Yeah.” Grant poked at a circuit board that Tony knew very well he was perfectly capable of completing on his own. Grant was smart and Tony had been teaching him well. The little boy sighed heavily. “I haven’t told her yet.”

“I see.” Tony said. He knew without asking exactly what Grant was referring to. It was something he had been fretting over for weeks, now. “You know, if you don’t tell Skye that you’re going into fifth grade, she’s going to be even more upset when she finds out from someone else.”

“I _know_.” Grant said, irritated. “Sorry.” He mumbled. “I just don’t want to upset her.”

Tony hugged his son. “I know, I know.” He kissed his head. “It’s hard.”

“Yeah.”

“But you need to tell her.”

“Yeah.” Grant hugged him back. “I’ll tell her.”

…

_I’ll tell them._

_You know I will._

_I know what you and that little whore did. I know._

Clint hadn’t wanted to tell Nat, but then she had started getting the texts, too.

_Gorgeous girl, I bet you wish you’d stayed with me._

_I know what you did, girl. I know everything._

_I’ll tell._

_Blackmail’s a bitch._

She already had thirty when she switched her phone on.

_How’s that uncle of yours?_

_Little slut. Lost your V at 12 didn’t you? I bet you were a sexy little thing._

And then they started coming, faster than they could even read them, on both phones. They didn’t know how he was doing it.

_Run._

_Clinton I’ll come for ya._

_Little brother. I’ll find ya._

_Little girl, I’m thinking of ya._

_I’m telling._

_Ha. Ha. Ha. Run away, kids. I’ll find ya…_

_Barney’s coming…_

They locked themselves away in their room. Couldn’t bring themselves to switch off the phones again.

_I know where you live._

Scared of what he would say.

_That little kid you live with is pretty cute._

_Do you think she knows what you did?_

Who he would tell.

_Want to go to prison?_

_It fucking sucks._

He was a madman with nothing to lose.

_Run, run as fast as you can._

The most dangerous man, was a man with nothing to lose.

_I’m coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> -Rape-  
> -Underage sexual behaviour-  
> -Fairly graphic violence-  
> -Threatening language-
> 
>  
> 
> So, guys, what did you think. A lot's been happening for this poor family, huh? Poor guys. Such a shame. Let me know what you thought. Leave me a comment? 
> 
> Love you loads,  
> -Em. xx

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooooooooo, what did we all think? 
> 
> Review please. Let me know what you thought. :) xxx  
> 


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